


The Edge of Forever

by LilyK



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyK/pseuds/LilyK
Summary: When Jim inherits a supposedly haunted house on the East Coat, he seems to have inherited the property's mysterious caretaker as well.This is a movie fic but darned if I can remember the original movie. I wrote this sometime in the mid-2000s.





	The Edge of Forever

Jim Ellison stood on the edge of the stony bluff overlooking the Atlantic coast. He watched the waves that crashed onto the rocks below his feet with the regularity that only the ocean could produce. Surprisingly, Jim noticed that his head, which seemed to ache constantly these days, was not hurting for the moment. Pleased, he considered this happy occurrence. 

The sound of the water soothed his frazzled nerves and calmed his spiking senses. He sighed with relief and turned away to look once more at "the mausoleum", as he privately called the house that loomed before him. Even from a distance of several hundred feet, the house was huge. Three stories, dark and solemn, with windows still clean enough to sparkle in the midmorning sunlight.

Jim was surprised that the house was in such good condition. Built by his ancestor and namesake, James J. Ellison, in 1787 on the family's homestead, this was supposedly the second dwelling built on the edge of the ragged cliff. The first had apparently been sucked out into the ocean by a hurricane in 1775, and a new house built on the same site. Jim's father, William, informed Jim that his great-great-great grandfather had settled on the rough coast when Indians still roamed freely, around 1689. William's hatred of the old house kept him silent on most of its heritage, and Jim had been surprised when William had divulged even this bit of information. 

In the ten years since Jim had inherited the house, William's constant haranguing that Jim not have anything to do with the dreadful place and to have it razed, kept Jim's curiosity piqued until he finally decided to see for himself exactly why his father had such a hatred and – yes, even fear – of a house three thousand miles away.

According to his father's lawyers, except for a brief period in the late sixties, the current house had been deserted since 1907, a short time after the previous owner, another James J. Ellison (in a long line of James J. Ellisons), had committed suicide by jumping from the very spot on which Jim now stood. Apparently, in the summer of 1967, a group of people bartered with the family estate to be allowed to live in the old house. They created a commune-style living arrangement of the sort that was so popular in those days. They were the ones responsible for installing two bathrooms and updating the house with electricity and a modern kitchen in exchange for rent. Jim's lawyers said the only information they had regarding the group's abrupt departure from the property was a copy of a letter from the leader of the group, who said he and his "family" were leaving and that all of the repairs were "on the house". Jim wondered what had scared them off. The house didn't seem all that frightening to him. 

Jim turned and once again peered over the edge. The rocks below looked like dragon's teeth rising to bite the unwary. Jim shook off the silly thought and walked back toward his truck. Might as well unload while the weather was still good, he mused, smelling a storm rolling in from the West. Hitting the remote control, Jim unlocked the doors and opened the back hatch of the Ford Expedition. He had his head buried deep in the interior when a friendly voice startled him. 

"Need a hand?" 

Jim started and rose, banging his head on the door's frame. "Ouch!" 

"Oh, hey, man. You okay?"

Rubbing the tender spot, Jim turned to face the voice. "This is private prop –" The rest of Jim's words froze in his mouth and his admonishment to the trespasser vanished when he looked into startlingly beautiful eyes. He straightened up and stood dazedly rubbing his head. 

"Hi! I'm Jake!" The man held out a hand, a wide smile on his handsome face. 

Jim found himself returning the smile. He took in the long, below-the-shoulder curly hair pulled back with a band at the nape of the man's neck. The blue eyes that smiled also reminded Jim of the color of the ocean in Bali, sapphire blue and clear. Automatically he held out his hand. 

"Jim Ellison." 

"Cool. I live over that way." A strong, well-shaped hand waved haphazardly toward the village from where Jim had come only a bit earlier after stocking up on groceries and other necessary supplies. "The estate pays me a few bucks a month to keep up the place." Jake walked away from the Expedition and stood, hands on hips. "Don't you just love this house? It's so –distinctive. Such personality. They don't build them like this any more." 

"Good thing," Jim muttered.

"Why's that? It's a great place!" Jake exclaimed, holding out his arms as if to embrace the entire monstrosity. 

"Okay, okay. I got it, ah, Jake. You like this place. I guess it could grow on you," Jim said, looking toward the house. "At least it's not cramped. And I like the sound of the ocean."

"Yeah, me too. It's soothing. Rhythmic. Like a giant white noise generator." 

Jim watched Jake's eyes lovingly peruse the vista before him. When Jake spotted a flock of seagulls having their breakfast, he watched their antics with a smile. 

"What? White noise generator?" Jim looked carefully at his companion. "I hadn't thought of that," he said to himself since it was apparent that Jake was otherwise engaged. Jim took a moment to examine the slim man a little more closely. 

He was average height, about 5'8". His face was smooth and clean-shaven with a hint of a heavy beard. His nose fit his face perfectly and his lips... Jim turned away, licking his own suddenly dry ones. Digging into the back of his vehicle, he gathered his composure and gave himself a stern talking-to. He'd just met this – caretaker and he was attracted to the man on sight? No way, Jimmy, he ordered himself. Love at first sight is a bunch of crap. You are just –horny. But a guy, and this guy in particular? He's nothing much... Jim sighed. You are such a liar, he silently scolded himself. Just because it's never happened to you before doesn't mean it isn't possible. But you're a cop, for God's sake! 

He forced his mind away from his current thoughts, knowing that the life of a police officer was hard enough without being involved in a gay relationship. Then his life would really be hell on wheels! It was hard enough being alone and lonely. Damn it anyway, but he didn't need more problems. These fucking senses were enough for now. Irritated, he turned with his arms full of boxes and shoved them into Jake's arms. "If you're going to hang around, be of some use," Jim groused. 

Jake laughed and juggled the boxes that threatened to slip to the ground. "Sure, man. Be happy to. I'm here to serve." 

Jim was sure if Jake's arms hadn't been full, that he would have given a sweeping bow while he spoke. Jim scowled at the smiling man and quickly filled his own arms with boxes. "Follow me." 

"Anytime," Jake muttered. 

Jim peered over the top box. "What?"

"Nothing," Jake responded, eyes wide and innocent. 

Jim swallowed. Oh, fuck, he thought. He's gorgeous. I am in such deep shit. Jim stalked toward the house, not looking back. First, the old man pitches a fit when I decided to come and see the mausoleum for myself, then I have to deal with these damned senses going screwy on me, and now what? My libido decides to join in too, wanting this guy? I am so fucked. Pushing the unlocked front door open with his foot, Jim continued his silent rant. You will not fall in love. Not with a woman and certainly not with this man. What the hell is wrong with you? You can't be that hard up! Jim's long legs carried him quickly down the wide hallway. 

"Jim, man, slow down. This isn't a race, you know," Jake said from the doorway. 

Jim stopped. "Oh, sorry. This way. Those boxes are for the den."

"Library." 

"What?"

"It's a library, man. A big, huge library. There are over three thousand books. I love that library," Jake said wistfully. 

"So read any of the books any time you like." Jim heard the words tumble out, the offer made before he even had time to consider it. Apparently, his brain was fucked up too. He sighed. 

"Really?" Jake's eyes lit up. 

"Yeah. Sure. Take them with you. Just remember where they came from." 

"You trust me to return them?" Jake said, following Jim into the library and setting the boxes carefully down on the edge of the desk. 

"Yes, Jake. I trust you. After all, you could have been stealing for years now if you've been looking after the place."

"I'd never do that. This place is too impor –” Jake stopped and shifted uncomfortably. "I'll get another load." He turned and raced from the room before Jim could speak. 

Jim cocked his head and unconsciously listened to the retreating man. The sound of his footsteps on the marble entryway echoed in Jim's head. The tapping noise was somehow familiar and welcome. Jim walked toward the door but stopped suddenly. A scent tickled his nose. The clean, woodsy smell of balsam mixed with apples wafted through his nasal passages and settled comfortably in the back of his throat. He looked around, curious about the origin of the smell. Whatever it was and wherever it came from, he liked it.

Jim glanced around the darkly paneled room. When he had visited the house last month, he had done only a cursory inspection of the premises before he decided to temporarily move into the house. He had been in this room once or twice, but this was the first time he'd truly looked. A lot of the furniture was original to the house, from his grandfather's and great grandfather's time. The room held a huge mahogany desk and a comfortable looking armchair covered in dark burgundy leather. The walls were lined with heavy shelving holding, as Jake had mentioned, volume after volume of leather-bound tomes. There was a large fireplace on one wall, along with a settee and two wing chairs in matching leather situated near the fireplace. The far wall held French doors that led out into a flagstone terrace and from there, down into a wide expanse of lawn that faced not toward the ocean, but ended in a huge stand of pines and hardwoods. 

Once again, Jim was pleased that the lawn was nicely cut, seemed to be weed-free and well-kept. Jake did a good job keeping up the place, considering how large it was. Jim wondered how the man had enough time to work here and keep up a job at the same time. Caretaking this monstrosity would take the better part of each day to be done properly. Curious, Jim took another step toward the door, intending to question his employee – if that was Jake's position – on exactly what his duties were regarding the estate. 

Something caught Jim's eye and his gaze went to the wall behind the desk. His eyesight focused involuntarily, and on the richly paneled wall he could see the faintest outline where something – a picture or painting – had hung. The square was only slightly darker than the wall surrounding it. Perhaps, when the walls were cleaned, the painting was not removed, thereby allowing the wall behind the painting to retain its original color and not fade over the years. His eyes also picked out the small hole where possibly a nail had been fastened to hang the picture. Curious, Jim glanced around, wondering where the picture was. He crossed the room to a closet, pulled the door open and looked inside. 

Several wooden crates occupied the space. Each was tightly secured on the top with small tacks. Nothing was written or painted on the plain wooden sides. Since they were obviously too small to hold the missing painting, Jim moved the crates and looked behind them, but no painting or framed photograph was to be found. 

"Jim? Find something interesting?" Jake put his armload of boxes down on the floor next to the desk and crossed to where Jim stood perusing the closet's contents. 

"Don't know. Three wooden crates. Old from the looks of them." Jim walked back a couple of steps and closed the door. "I was looking for the picture that used to hang on that wall," he said, pointing at the space behind the desk. 

"There are probably more books in the crates." Jake walked over behind the desk and looked up. "Picture? That's curious. How could you tell?" 

Jim heard Jake's heart rate spike and he heard the man's respiration rise. He's obfuscating and trying to distract me. Did he steal it? Nah, more than likely it was x-rated. With a chuckle, Jim crossed the room and stood next to Jake. 

"See? This space is a bit darker than the rest and if you look about a foot from the ceiling, you can see where a hanger of some sort was removed. There's still a tiny hole." 

Jake turned surprised eyes on Jim. "You can see all that from here?"

Jim shrugged. "Yeah. I have good eyesight."

"You must." 

Taking a wild leap, Jim asked, "Why don't you want me to see the picture, Jake?" Jim gazed intently at him, gauging his reaction. 

Jake's face blanched and he shoved his suddenly shaking hands into his pockets. "Ah... Listen. I have to go." 

Jim saw his reaction. He moved closer and latched onto Jake's sleeve. "Did you steal the picture? Did you need money for drugs or booze?" he growled. 

"Hey! Let go!" Jake tugged hard. "No way! I'd never do that to..." His eyes flicked back and forth as if he were looking for an escape route. 

Jim's eyes narrowed. "To whom?"

"Nothing! Let me go!" 

Jim saw the beads of sweat break out on Jake's forehead. "Tell me or I'm calling the cops." 

"Please, Jim..." 

"Tell me," Jim ordered, his fingers tightening on the slim arm. 

"I took it down," Jake said, hanging his head, his shoulders slumping. 

"Why?"

Jake shrugged. 

Jim gritted his teeth. "Where is it?"

"Attic." 

"Let's go."

"No, man. This isn't such a good idea." 

"I'll decide whether or not it's a good idea. You're panicked, and I want to know why." 

Jake's chin touched his chest. He muttered, "You won't like it." 

"I'll be the judge of that. Now show me." 

Jake shrugged again. "Sure." When Jim released his hold, Jake led Jim out of the library, down the long hallway, up a long flight of stairs and down another hallway where he stopped before a large carved wooden door. "Attic," he said, pointing to the door. 

Jim twisted the handle. "It's locked." 

"Yeah, well..." Jake shuffled a foot. 

"How did you...? Okay, Jake – whatever the hell your last name is, just how did you get the picture up into the attic?"

"It wasn't locked when I went up." 

"And now it is." 

"And now it is." 

"I'll kick it down." 

"Don't get all violent, man. Here." Jake dug through his pocket and produced a ring of keys. He fingered through the set and selected an old-fashioned skeleton key. "Don't say I didn't warn you." 

Jim yanked the keys from Jake's hand. "This is my house. I think you should leave." 

Jake sighed heavily and walked away slowly. "Sorry, Jim," he whispered over his shoulder. 

Jim heard the quiet words and felt the man's contriteness, and for a second, he almost called him back. Biting his lip, he tamped down the feeling that he needed Jake with him for whatever was about to happen and unlocked the door. 

\-------------------------------------------

The painting was wrapped in a white sheet and tied tightly with twine. It leaned against the wall in a dark corner but Jim spied it instantly. He quickly crossed the space separating him from his prize and pulled out his pocketknife. With one swipe, he sliced the twine wrapping the picture. Carefully turning the heavy wooden frame so that the front of the picture was facing him, he leaned it against the wall under the window for the best light. When he looked at the subject matter, his breath stuck in his throat. His heart pounded and his eyes blurred. He stumbled backward and fell onto his backside with a thump. 

Not even bothering to rise, Jim unconsciously brushed his hands together to wipe away the non-existent dust and stared, eyes wide and mouth open. The picture, an oil painting, was bright and vibrant as if it had been recently painted. The two men in the picture were dressed in turn-of-the century clothing. Neat dark suits, brilliant white shirts with starched collars and striped ties, silver watch chains, shiny black shoes. But it wasn't the manner of dress that had Jim dumbstruck; it was the men's faces that had him stunned. 

The man on the right, who was standing, seemed to be somewhere around age forty. Closely-cropped sandy brown hair, slightly receding hairline, piercing clear blue eyes, a stern, clean-shaven face with a hint of a smile, a well-muscled frame with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He looked exactly like... Jim swallowed hard and dragged his eyes away from the face. It was his body language that really grabbed Jim. He had his hand on the shoulder of the man who sat in the chair in the foreground of the picture. The standing man's body leaned slightly toward the sitting man. The look was – possessive while loving. Forceful but kind. The man's long fingers held the slightest bit of material from the other man's coat. He looked down into the face of his companion and it looked to Jim as if his eyes were locked onto the gaze of the other man. What he saw in the man's face was pure and simple. He was deeply in love, and it was with the man sitting close to him. 

Tearing his eyes away from the standing figure, Jim studied the sitting one. The man sat on a simple, straight-backed wooden chair. His face was turned sideways, giving Jim only a profile from which to garner information. The face was eerily familiar, but the beard and mustache, while closely clipped, hid the details. The man appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and he was looking upward at his companion. Jim could see the look that the talented painter had captured. Pure adoration. The man's face was bright and happy. His lips were turned up in a small smile, unusual for the day when stern looks in paintings and photographs were the vogue. His hair was very long, halfway down his back, pulled to a bunch at the nape of his neck and tied with a thin black ribbon. The hair was curly and the painter had captured perfectly the shade of brown with reddish glints. While the seated man's left hand rested on his thigh, his right arm was casually slung over the back of the wooden chair. Jim allowed his eyes to focus closely. He stared at the man's brow, the shape of his lips, the shell of his ear. He focused intently and everything faded away....

\--------------------------------------------

"... you okay? If you don't answer me, I'm calling the fire department! Mr. Ellison!" 

Jim started, his senses crashing, his head pounding. The fingers clutching his arm continually shook the boneless flesh. The sound of an irritating, high-pitched voice painfully shot directly into his brain and his eyes teared involuntarily in response. 

"I'm – okay," Jim rasped, pulling away. "Who – are you?" Jim blinked rapidly, trying to focus. After a long minute, his eyes finally responded. He looked into a woman's face before taking in her general appearance. Medium dark brown hair pulled into a French knot, red lips, clear skin and light-brown eyes. She wore a navy-blue suit, short skirted, with a starched white blouse. Shapely legs were encased in nylons and finished with three-inch heels. "I'm sorry. I have these – spells sometimes." 

"Let's go down into the kitchen and get you a glass of water." The woman smiled and held out a hand. "Excuse me. Let me introduce myself. I'm Carolyn Plummer. I live on the next estate to the south." 

"Jim Ellison." When Jim took the outstretched hand and the cold fingers touched his, another shard of pain lanced its way into his head. His eyes teared yet again and he pulled his hand back to rub them. "Sorry. I need to take my headache medicine." 

"Oh, you poor dear! Migraines? My father suffers from migraines and I know just what you need." Carolyn grabbed Jim's arm and practically manhandled him out of the attic, down the stairs and into the kitchen. She physically maneuvered him into a chair and after fetching him a glass of cool water, she started to unbutton his shirt. 

"What are you doing?" Jim said, spurting water from his mouth when the cold fingers tugged at his shirt. 

"I'm going to rub liniment on your chest and back. It helps with migraines."

"I don't have any liniment!" Jim said, trying to rise. 

Carolyn shoved down on Jim's shoulders. "I'll run home and get some. Better yet, let me check under the sink. There might be some here." Boldly, she rummaged for a few moments before she emerged triumphantly, holding a blue bottle. "Here we go. I'll have you better in no time." 

When the woman walked toward Jim, another stab of pain pierced his skull and his eyes watered yet again. A blinding light exploded around his field of vision and Carolyn's image was infused with a shimmery, painfully bright light. Jim closed his eyes and rubbed his lids. 

"No, it's okay. Really," Jim said, rising and putting the chair between him and Carolyn. 

"It's no trouble!" Carolyn crooned, skirting the chair to touch Jim's arm. 

Another stab of pain from her touch traveled up his arm, across his neck and into his ear. He pressed a hand over the throbbing ear and moaned softly. "Please," he begged. "Just... I'll be fine. I need to lie down."

"Let me help you," Carolyn offered, moving closer. 

Jim sucked in his breath. "No!" he shouted, making Carolyn flinch. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Listen. Why don't you give me a few days and we'll – get together. I need a couple of days to get settled."

"How about I come over on Thursday night and cook you a nice dinner?"

Anxious to get rid of the woman, Jim jumped at the chance to send her on her way. "Yeah, good." He steered the woman toward the back door, using barely the tips of his fingers to guide her. "Thursday." 

"Seven okay?" Carolyn flashed Jim a brilliant smile and a bit of cleavage. 

Jim's eyes burned. "Yes. Seven. Thanks." Jim closed the door and leaned against it, taking deep breaths. Thursday he would be far away from home, he promised himself. Trying to settle his breathing and to control his stomach that was rolling in reaction to the pain in his head, he was startled when someone rapped sharply on the glass against which he was now leaning. Leaping forward, Jim spun around and looked into the pinched face of his would-be rescuer. 

"I brought you homemade brownies!" Carolyn called through the glass, pointing at the counter where a plate rested, the contents snug under a clean dishtowel. 

Jim waved. "Thanks! Good day!" Jim turned away and was finally rewarded with the tap-tapping of the woman's high heels on the flagstone as she finally left. With a stifled moan, he slid down the door and sank to the floor. Crossing his arms on his knees, he rested his head on his arms, closed his eyes and tried to breathe calmly. 

James, are you okay? Try to relax. Take slow breaths and relax. 

The sound of the deep, quiet voice soothed his frayed senses. Soft hands caressed his head and neck. The pain slowly receded. The fragrance of balsam and apples filled Jim's nose and his eyes became very heavy. He must have dozed for a few minutes because when he opened his eyes, the smell was still there but he was alone. Thankfully, his headache was gone. Sighing with relief, Jim rose and walked toward the hallway leading to the front of the house. When he crossed by the pantry, he saw that the door was ajar. He peered in and noticed that the lid to the trashcan was askew. He pulled the lid from the can to glance inside. The plate of brownies, dish and all, lay in the bottom of the can. The smell made Jim crinkle his nose in disgust and he slapped the lid back on tightly. 

Walking down the hallway, Jim called, "Jake?" He walked through the dining room, the front parlor, the small first-floor sitting room, and the vestibule, but nobody answered his calls. His hearing kicked in, but as far as he could tell, he was alone. 

\------------------------------------------

Jim woke early to the smells of bacon and eggs frying, and to fresh coffee brewing. Happily crinkling his nose, he allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the tantalizing scents before he abruptly sat up. Who was cooking at – 6:30 in the morning on a Wednesday? Startled for a second that it might be his new acquaintance, Carolyn Plummer, Jim rose and tossed on his robe. He heard the footsteps of someone crossing the tile floor of the kitchen and he breathed a small sigh of relief. The familiar steps belonged to his caretaker, Jake. Jim was puzzled about the breakfast being cooked, but not so puzzled that his stomach didn't enjoy the idea of a hot meal. It rumbled in response to the fragrance of freshly prepared food. 

Rubbing a hand through his tousled hair, he headed for the kitchen. He had worked late into the night unpacking, sorting and arranging his personal items, and had fallen into bed well after midnight after a cold dinner of a turkey sandwich and a soda. Jim had packed his clothing and other important personal items into the Expedition, but the rest of his household possessions would be arriving in a week's time by moving van. Still, he had enough to occupy himself with for hours on end, and he had subsequently forgotten the time last night. As he walked down the hallway to the kitchen, Jim realized that his senses were cooperating and that his head wasn't aching. Happy, he smiled and walked into the kitchen. 

The vision before him stopped him cold in his tracks. Jake had his back to Jim, but from his movements, and from the pleasant smells, Jim could tell that he was busily buttering toast at the counter. He was humming and his feet were tapping. Jim saw headphones on Jake's curly head and a personal CD player clamped on his belt. The long hair swayed with the hips that shook, and the man's backside looked inviting encased in tight, worn blue jeans as it sashayed from side to side. With a grin, Jim crossed the room and grabbed Jake's sides, digging in his fingers. 

"Boo!" 

Jake screamed and the toast in his fingers flew through the air. Jim deftly caught the airborne bread before it hit the floor. Jake spun around, hand over his heart. When he saw Jim standing with a smile on his face, Jake returned the smile with one of his own. 

"You are in so much trouble!" Jake shouted, his grin widening now that he knew his would-be attacker was Jim. 

"Smells good," Jim said. 

"What?" 

"Smells good!" Jim shouted. 

Jake grinned again and pulled the earphones from his head. "Sorry, man. I was cooking breakfast."

"Yeah, I can see that. Why?"

Jake dished up the fried eggs, sunny side up, over medium, and added a small mound of bacon strips to a plate. "Sit. Eat while it's hot." With a flourish, he put the plate on the table. 

"What about you?" 

"I'm having some too. If you don't mind, that is. It's your food, after all." He gave Jim a satisfied grin. 

Jim picked up his fork and cut into the eggs. After a bite, he said, "These are perfect. Just the way I like them." 

"Yeah, I know," Jake said absentmindedly while he searched through a cupboard. 

"What?" Jim asked. "How do you know?"

Jake turned, sugar bowl in hand. "Know what?"

"How I like my eggs?"

"I guessed," Jake said, grinning. 

Jim raised an eyebrow. "But you just said...." 

"How do you take your coffee?"

"You tell me." 

"Black with a bit of sugar." Jake put the sugar bowl next to Jim's plate and poured each of them a mug of coffee. "Me, too." 

Jim continued eating, savoring the delicious breakfast. "This toast is excellent." 

"I made the bread." 

"You did?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I can cook." 

"I know you can. You clean. You cook. You're everything a guy wants in a –” 

Jake's hand went up. "Stop right there. You say wife, and you and I are going to have trouble." 

Jim laughed. "In a roommate, asshole." 

Jake laughed also. "Okay, in a roomie. That I can live with." Jake ate for a few minutes before he asked, "How's the move going?"

Jim wiped the last of the egg yolk from his plate with a crust of bread. "Good. Slow. I keep finding interesting things left by my great-grandfather and I get distracted. Can I have that?" Jim reached over and snagged Jake's last piece of bacon. 

"Help yourself," Jake said. "Mi casa es su casa." 

Jim munched happily. "I think you have that backwards." 

"Oh, yeah, right. I'll clean up and we'll get to work." 

"We?" 

"Yeah, I'm off today. Do you want a hand?"

Jim smiled. His senses were calm. The day was sunny. His belly was full. He had a desirable companion. What more could he want? Content, he said, "I'd love it. Thanks. But I'll help with the dishes. You wash and I'll dry." 

Jake grinned, blue eyes sparkling. "Deal." 

"Oh, and thanks for yesterday after – Ms. Plummer left."

Jake's face paled. "Ms. Plummer," he echoed softly. 

"Yeah, thanks." 

"For what?" Jake shifted minutely, looking uncomfortable. 

"You know. Making me feel better. The brownies." 

"Brownies?" Jake echoed again, ducking his head to closely examine the dishwater. 

Jim's nose twitched. He scented the faint odor of fear. "Yes. Thanks." 

"But I didn't...." Jake handed Jim a freshly washed dish. 

"Didn't what, Chief?" Jim asked softly. 

"Nothing, man. Just – be careful of her." 

"Why?"

Shrugging, Jake fell silent. Jim waited but when no other explanation was forthcoming, he didn't question the suddenly unhappy man further. 

\----------------------------------------------

The day flew by. Jim found himself tuning into Jake's presence. He liked the way he felt around the man, but he was very apprehensive when he realized that his body seemed to almost – *need* to be near Jake. He felt better and saw more clearly when he was close to his new friend. His eyes didn't water and his head didn't ache. His heart beat calmly and his mind was settled. As much as he loved the feelings, he was scared, very scared. Being a cop was dangerous enough without wanting a man for a lover. And apparently, his body wanted this particular man. 

Jim took a sip of the iced tea that Jake had prepared earlier and thought further about his feelings. While washing up, he could hear Jake humming away while he fixed a late dinner. 

Jim wandered through the house, out the front door and over to the edge of the cliff. He sat on the grass, staring out over the ocean. The whitecaps danced in the distance and Jim could see a cargo ship far out on the horizon. Looking up, he saw a 757 in the sky; he focused intently on it. He was very startled when his eyesight zoomed in and he could read the name of the airline on the tail of the plane. Pulling back carefully, he considered this and other things while he drank his beverage. The taste of freshly brewed tea prepared with a hint of honey and raspberry danced on his tongue. Jake fixes the best food and drink, Jim mused. It's almost like he knows how much trouble I've been having with my senses of taste and smell lately. Everything is fresh and tasty. Besides, he's so damned helpful. Not bad looking either, he added with a small smile. 

He glanced back over his shoulder at his new house. It wasn't home, not yet, anyway, and he wasn't even sure if he was staying in New England. But for now, the distance between here and Washington State was welcome. Back home, his senses were almost uncontrollable. His headaches were painful and his mental outlook was shaky. Here he at least felt – content and in control. He briefly wondered if it was the place or the companionship, or both. 

Thinking about Jake again, Jim imagined what the slim, strong body looked like sans clothes. He licked his lips and wondered what the hell he was doing even considering anything about the man. Yeah, he admitted to himself, he had occasionally looked at other men, but he'd never acted on that impulse. He'd bedded a few women in his younger days, but the last few years had been lonely. With his senses and the trouble that they brought, he found it easier to avoid any romantic entanglements. Jim couldn't even imagine what would happen with his senses if he were aroused. He might find out that he couldn't perform, or even worse, that he was unable to control himself; that the slightest touch would send him into the spiral of hell that he called an "episode". He would be unconscious for minutes, minutes that often turned into hours. He had no control over the episodes, and he was afraid one of these days, he would lapse into one and never wake up. 

Bitterly, Jim thought about his life and looking back, all he saw was misery, disappointment and disillusionment. He wondered sometimes why he even bothered to survive. With a dejected sigh, he lay back on the grass and closed his eyes. 

You're so beautiful, James, the quiet voice said. I love when you touch me. Touch me, James. Touch my body. Let me touch yours. 

Warm hands caressed Jim's chest, stopping to teasingly rub each nipple to hardness. The welcome fragrance of apples and balsam filled his nose. The hands sensually traveled down his body and started to unbutton the waistband of his pants.... With a small sigh, Jim opened his eyes. He blinked several times before looking for the owner of the comforting voice. It sounded so familiar! He wiped his fingers across his eyes, realizing then that he must have fallen asleep. Wondering how long he had been sleeping and about whom he had been dreaming, he sat up and rubbed his face. 

"Jim! Jim!" 

Turning, Jim saw Jake standing on the front steps, waving. "Dinner!" 

Waving back, Jim rose and went to eat, with the feelings of warmth and love still tantalizing the corners of his mind.

\------------------------------------------------

"Anything else you need?" Jake asked, putting the leftovers away into the fridge. 

"Jake, you've done quite enough for today. Let me pay you." 

"Nah, man. Forget it. I enjoyed it. Besides, it was your food." 

"It was delicious." 

"It was burgers and oven-fried potatoes, Jim, but thanks. I'm happy you liked it." Jake gave Jim a sweet smile. "I like taking care of you." 

Jim bristled for a second. "I need taking care of?"

"Yeah, you do. I'm privileged that you're allowing me to do the caring. Thank you." 

Jim's eyes narrowed and for a second, he wondered if the man was ribbing him, but Jake's face showed no sign of teasing or lying. He smiled and his eyes were happy. Jim realized that he was absolutely serious about the thanks. Jim nodded, feeling himself blush. "You're welcome. I enjoyed it." 

"Cool. So do you need anything else before I head out?"

"There is one thing." 

"Shoot." 

"Would you help me hang that portrait back in the den – library?"

Jake looked away for a moment before he turned unsettled eyes back to Jim. "Sure. If that's what you want." 

"Yes, I do." 

Jim led the way into the library. He had already brought a stepladder into the room earlier. He had drilled a larger hole for a new picture hanger and had placed the heavy metal decorative stud into the wooden wall. "I need you to help me lift the picture. It's darned heavy and I'd hate to drop it." 

"I'm here to help, James," Jake said quietly. 

"You called me James." 

"No, I didn't. I called you Jim. Besides, it is your name, isn't it?" 

"Yes. It's an old family name." 

"Ah." 

"And yours?" 

"My what?"

"Your name. You haven't told me your full name yet." Jim opened the stepladder and climbed to the second step from the top. "Is it some deep, dark secret? Hand me the picture." 

Jake seemed to ignore Jim's inquiry while he struggled with the picture for a moment, balancing the heavy item before he hefted it up enough for Jim to grab a solid hold. Keeping to the old style of picture hanging, a long wire was fastened to the back of the frame that would be wrapped over the decorative Victorian hanger attached to the wall. Jim sat the bottom of the picture on the top step of the ladder and reached up to slip the wire over the hanger. After doing so, he carefully positioned the picture against the wall. 

Turning to Jake, he asked, "Is it level?"

Jake stood in front of the desk, arms crossed, and studied the picture for a long moment before he tore his eyes from the portrait and said, "Your right needs to come up an inch. Do you need a level? There's one in the workshop I could get." 

"Nah, I've got it." Jim wiggled the wire until the picture was readjusted. "How's it look?"

"It looks old and worn, Jim," said a woman's voice. 

Jim's head quickly swiveled. A bright light burst in front of his eyes and a sharp pain pierced his head. His hold on the picture wavered and he unconsciously pushed up enough so that the wire unlatched. The heavy picture teetered, then crashed to the floor. Jim lost his balance, falling over backward onto the desktop. 

"Jim!" Carolyn Plummer screamed, running forward. "Are you all right? Jim!"

Jim struggled to catch his breath, thankful that he hadn't fallen all the way to the floor. He lay on the desktop for a long minute, with Carolyn's face hovering over his. When her hands touched his arm, irritating prickles of pain nibbled at his flesh. He tried to push her hands away, but instead, she grabbed his flailing hand and held on tightly. 

"What happened?" Jim muttered, trying to tug his hand free. Sharp tingles rushed up his arm to his shoulder. "Where's Jake?" 

"What? Who? That idiot?" Carolyn's eyes narrowed and her mouth formed a tight line. "There's nobody here, Jim. Why are you up on a ladder alone? That's not very smart." 

"I'm fine." Jim finally managed to pull out of her grasp and shakily sat up, rubbing his aching lower back. 

"Let me help you," Carolyn offered, reaching out to latch onto his arm. 

"Why are you here?" Jim asked through the haze of bright, flashing lights and searing pain, as he longed for distance between them. 

"I was on my way to the market. I wanted to ask what you wanted for dinner tomorrow night?"

"Dinner?" Jim echoed, rising from the desktop. Still feeling shaky, he leaned against the desk for support. He saw the picture lying on the floor behind the ladder. "Shit," he muttered, falling to his knees and pulling the broken pieces of frame away from the canvas. "You could have just called." 

"I didn't know your cell number. Besides, there's no land service to this house that I know of." 

"Oh, yeah, right," Jim muttered unconsciously while he stacked the pieces of broken frame into a small pile. 

Carolyn came around the desk and stood, hands on hips. "That ugly old thing. Just throw it away," she ordered before her voice turned syrupy. "There's a nice gallery in town. We'll pick out an appropriate picture when we go into the village." 

"We? What are you talking about?"

"Our date, remember? Tomorrow night I'm fixing you dinner here and then we're going to a movie. Did you forget?"

"Dinner," Jim echoed, rising. "Right. Tomorrow night." Jim figured he should have told her right then and there that he didn't want to have dinner with her and he certainly didn't remember agreeing to a date, but he didn't feel up to a big scene at the moment. He knew instinctively that she would pitch a fit and he wanted no part of that. He knew it was a bit cowardly, but he just wanted her gone. Steeling himself against any adverse reactions, Jim lightly put a hand on Carolyn's shoulder, guiding the woman to the front door. "Anything's fine. I'll eat just about anything." He slammed the door in her face before she had a chance to respond. Flipping the deadbolt, he sighed with relief before turning to lean against the wood. His fingers massaged his aching temples and his eyes closed in exhaustion. 

Take it easy, James. She's gone. Relax. Deep, even breaths. I'll fix you a cup of my special sassafras tea. It's your favorite. 

The fragrance of balsam and apples filled the vestibule. Jim's eyes flew open. "Jake?" Jim pushed away from the door and searched the house. His head ached too much to use his senses so he went from room to room, calling for his companion. After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, he realized that he was alone. 

\---------------------------------------------

Back in the library, Jim retrieved the damaged canvas from the floor. Carefully, he lifted it to the desk and gently placed it in the center, intending to inspect the damage. One corner of the canvas was bent upward. Jim's keen gaze spied another piece of material under the top one. Using the letter opener from the desk to slip under the edge, Jim was surprised when there seemed to be something behind the front painting. Excited, Jim sat down and leaned forward until he was eye-level with the opening. Maybe it was a long-lost Van Gogh or Picasso worth millions. Laughing at his own foolishness, and wielding the opener like a surgical instrument, Jim worked it along the edge of the two items until the right side was free. His interest piqued, he rose. Testing to be sure that the canvas underneath the first one wasn't glued down, he tugged gently until a second portrait was revealed. Jim stared. His throat closed and his breath left his body. He stumbled back, sitting heavily in the desk's chair, his eyes never leaving the newly discovered painting. 

It was old and faded, not like the vibrant colors of the first painting, but still very clear. The subject matter was what struck Jim into a stupor. It was the exact same two men from the first portrait, but this time, Jim could tell that their clothing was from a much earlier time period. He studied the painting carefully when his eyes spotted a small bit of scratching in the lower left corner. He focused in and there he saw painted in a delicate hand, the words, 'James and Blair, 1802'. 

"Oh, my God," Jim said aloud. "It's – me. It is me! And – Jake?" The men's faces were identical to the ones in the first portrait. Only their clothing was different. Their posture was the same; their physical attributes were the same; the looks on their faces were the same. The only big difference was that in this portrait, James had the beard and Blair/Jake was clean-shaven. But it was the look that had Jim stunned. They looked at each other like they were – in love. Jim swallowed hard, sat back and stared even longer, putting the two portraits side by side. That's when he saw it. Under where the very bottom edge of the original painting had been hidden by the picture frame, painted in a fine script, was 'B and J, 1901'. 

"Fuck," Jim muttered. "Blair and – James? James is a family name. I'm the – what? Fourth or fifth James J. Ellison in my family? My dad hated the name but my grandfather insisted, or so dad told me. What in heaven's name is going on? And why do they look like me and Jake?" He rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose before he leaned forward, once again studying the paintings. His eyes flicked back and forth until he made himself dizzy. With a groan, he muttered, "Maybe you are going nuts, Ellison." 

Jim sighed, turning over the second portrait which was still attached to a backboard of some sort. On closer inspection, it looked like a very old piece of veneer that had been stripped from a much larger piece. Jim minutely scanned the wood. He could see the saw marks still evident in the surface and was surprised that the marks seemed to be hand-made, clearly lacking the regularity of a machine-made item. 

Placing the portrait with its backing facing down yet again, Jim retrieved his trusty letter opener and once again attacked the very bottom corner of the second portrait. He wasn't the least bit surprised when the picture easily detached from its mooring. "I'm so far into the Twilight Zone now, nothing would surprise me," Jim muttered, peeling the second portrait up and away. "Well, double fuck." 

This time Jim stood and stared, yet again amazed. There wasn't another canvas beneath the second one, but there was another portrait. This one was drawn directly onto the light wood in a firm hand. The monochrome portrait seemed to have been created by burning right into the wood. And in the upper left corner were the tiny block letters, 'James and Blaire, 1700'. He wasn't surprised any longer, he was plain downright shocked to his very soul. It was the same men; this time both were bearded, but the faces – those eyes – were exactly the same. He sat back down, mouth agape. 

"It's called pyrography." 

Jim looked up, startled. He hadn't heard Jake come into the house, let alone into the room. "What?" he blurted. "Pyro... what?" 

"The art of burning into wood. It's from the ancient Greeks. Been done for millennia. All over the world, actually. Peru, Greece, Britannia, Asia." 

"It's very beautiful." 

"It is," Jake said softly. 

"How do you know so much about – everything?" 

"I read a lot." 

"So tell me." Watching Jake intently, Jim wasn't surprised that Jake showed no signs of astonishment at the pictures, or what he was asking. Jim knew without a doubt that Jake knew something about the portraits – and the men in them. 

"What? Why they look like you and me? Why the portraits seem to be 'us'? That's something I can't do, Jim. It's something you have to figure out for yourself." 

"Why?" Jim said, rising angrily. "I came here to figure out if my ancestors were all crazy and committed suicide, and you won't tell me what you know? How in the hell is that helping me? You said you wanted to help. Then help!" 

Jake stepped back. "I can't. Please believe me. If I could, I'd do anything for you. James. You must know that by now." 

"You are not making sense! I've just met you. How could I know that 'by now'? And you're being of absolutely no use to me!" Jim came from around the desk, his fists clenched in anger. "Did my great-grandfather kill himself because of his senses or because he was a homosexual, or a combination of both!?"

"What?" Jake's mouth fell open. "What did you say?" 

"You heard me. You seem to know why I'm here and what's going on so there's no use hiding anything. I'm going crazy. I can't do my job and I can't control them. I want to know if I'm going to do the same thing my ancestors did. Did they commit suicide because of their senses? What else? They went nuts, that much is obvious! Am I going to jump from that cliff when I can't handle it any longer?" Jim's hand pointed toward the ocean; his face pale and drawn. 

"Jim, no! It's not... Oh, God," Jake said, putting his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry! Be helpful! Tell me," Jim ordered, grabbing Jake's upper arms and digging into the firm skin. "What is your real name, anyway?"

"Jake. I told you." 

"What about – Blair?" 

Jake swallowed and after fidgeting in the strong grasp, he finally admitted, "Okay, yeah. It's my given name but I haven't used it for twenty years." 

"Why's that? What are you hiding from?"

"Nothing! Listen. When I went to first grade, I was small and geeky. The kids teased me, said Blair was a girl's name. I went home and cried. My mom was really cool about those sorts of things, an original hippie. Live and let live. Man, she let me make my own decisions, even at five. She said if I didn't like my name, change it." Jake tried to tug from Jim's grasp, but Jim held on, remaining silent. Jake's gaze met his briefly before it slid away. After a loud swallow, he added, "My middle name's Jacob. I thought Jake was a manly name so I became Jake. I only use Blair on legal documents. Satisfied?" When Jim failed to respond, Jake pleaded, "Jim, please," while trying to pull away. 

"Why are you so – scared? Did I hurt you – before?" Jim heard the man's heart pounding and his respiration rising. 

"Before?"

"Then," Jim said, nodding toward the portraits. "Back then." 

"No! You'd never hurt me." Jake squirmed in Jim's grasp. "Jim, please...." 

When Jake's gaze met Jim's, Jim stared deep into the blue depths. Something happened at that moment. Their eyes held, a connection formed, their hearts pounded, and their souls recognized each other across the ages. Jim licked his lips and leaned forward. When he saw Jake's eyes widen for a moment before they closed in surrender, he almost moaned. His body hummed with life and his soul soared. "Blair," Jim murmured the moment before their lips touched. 

Warm and sweet, the kiss deepened. Jake leaned into the kiss, spurring Jim into pressing even harder. Suddenly, he pulled back and pushed Jake away. 

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered, feeling sick, and unable to look at the unhappy face of his companion. It wasn't until he heard Jake's footsteps move away, echoing for a few moments before fading entirely, that Jim turned back to the empty room. After glancing around, he turned toward the nearest wall and punched it hard. "Fuck!" he yelled. 

A screech echoed through the large room, bouncing from the walls and piercing Jim's sensitive ears. Clamping his hands over them to block the awful sound, Jim shook his head to clear it. When he finally raised his head and searched for the source of the irritation, he was once again astonished when he saw that a small wooden panel on the wall in front of him had swung open. Taking a tentative step forward, Jim pushed aside the panel and saw a recessed door about twenty-four inches square. The lock on it looked like one of the old-time ones that took a skeleton key to open. He fished in his pocket for the keys that Jake had given him the day he had arrived and pushed the metal key into the opening. The lock chinked softly; the door swung open. 

On the small shelves were journals. Ten of them of various colors, green, black, brown and blue, Jim noted. Carefully opening each one and reading the cover leaf while he made a small pile at his feet, he saw that each had been written by his namesake. On closer inspection, the dates and handwriting made it clear that several different "James J. Ellison's" had written the journals as they spanned three hundred years. Excited, Jim carried his small pile of treasures over to the sofa and settled down to read. Maybe now the secrets of his family's doomed history would be revealed. 

\----------------------------------------------

Hours later, and starving, Jim closed the final book, thinking about what he had just read. On one hand, the journals were surprising and startling, but on the other, Jim was resigned. It seemed that the other "Jameses" in his family lived strange and often unhappy lives. They talked of unusual physical problems, which to Jim, sounded like the "usual" overactive senses crap he lived with every day. The men came across as eccentric, demanding, stern and unyielding in their writings, in every facet of their lives except for one; they seemed to be enamored, for lack of a better word to Jim, over "their" Blair Jacob Sandburg. They all made reference to their ailments, referring to their overactive senses by various terms that conveyed their pain and anguish. To make matters worse, it seemed that all were thought to be mentally lacking by various family members. None of the men had happy lives, it seemed. Jim snorted softly. Even though he understood about his uncooperative senses, he was thought to be a bit crazy by his own family and he didn't have a happy life. With a derisive smirk, Jim realized he fit right into his family lineage. 

In the early eighteenth century, James Ellison spoke of his son's tutor in glowing phrases. He extolled his virtues endlessly in the journal, until one startling final entry that revealed Sandburg was burned at the stake by a vigilante mob for being a witch. In his writings, James vehemently denied that Blair had besotted him and that 'the witch' made it so that James couldn't function without his very presence. Jim sat, shocked for a long moment, when he read this entry. The journal entries stopped at that point and Jim knew without anybody telling him that James had died shortly thereafter. 

The James Ellison of the early nineteenth century bragged about the local physician, Dr. Blair Sandburg, who saved James' wife and son during childbirth. Again, James' entries praised the good doctor time and again, and even went so far as to hint at the fact that he dreamed about a physical relationship with the man. However, none of the entries ever said that it came to pass. 

Following the previous journals by 'James the First', (Jim started calling them by certain labels to keep them straight in his head), James the Second's last entries were made with a shaky hand. Curses and epithets covered three pages. Dr. Sandburg had been felled by an unknown hand. No further details were given. James wrote that he felt himself slipping away; he complained about this over and over again, until the entries ceased, but this time, a small clipping from a newspaper was tucked into the final page. James J. Ellison apparently committed suicide over a large embezzlement scandal at the bank where he was employed, and which was owned by the Ellison family. Even though he protested his innocence, his suicide was thought to have amounted to a confession. Jim could tell that the family was shamed. The account of James the Second's funeral was very short. 

The final journals were written by James the Third. "I'm James the Fourth," Jim muttered. "Oh, goodie. Wonder what kind of shit I'm going to do before I kill myself. Guess I'd better start keeping a journal." With a resigned sigh, Jim considered what he'd just read in the last books. Yet again, James the Third seemed to be an educated man. He had a wife and a son to carry on the family name, but he was enamored with a man. He wrote about wanting a sexual relationship with the man but again, nothing indicated that this ever happened. He also wrote about how his life was complete, his troubled mind settled, while Blair Sandburg was in his employ as a valet. Jim had almost closed the last book before he finished; almost couldn't read further. He didn't want to read about Blair's death and his own – his ancestor's suicide yet again, but he did. He wasn't disappointed, damn it anyway. 

Apparently, James the Third was away on a business trip. There was a telegram between two of the pages dated April 24, 1905, informing James that his valet, Blair Sandburg, was dead, found drowned in the fountain that graced the back courtyard. Apparently, his demise was brought on by an overindulgence of drink. Another small newspaper clipping revealed that James the Third had jumped from the cliff located in front of the house shortly after his Blair's death. Jim rose and stared out the French doors. There was no fountain in the yard. 

Even though it was dark and cold, he found a flashlight and went outside, carefully searching the flagstone. Using his heightened sight, it took him about ten minutes to find where the stones were from a different quarry than the ones surrounding it. He rose and chewed on his lip. In his mind's eye, he could picture James coming home and personally taking a sledge hammer to the fountain. In his rage, he pounded the cement and stones into a pile of sand. Then he flung himself to his death two hundred yards from where his beloved companion had died. 

Wondering the true cause of the "James'" deaths, and of the "Blair's', as well, he re-read a few of the entries that stood out. He couldn't help but compare himself to them. All three of the Ellison men had been married. He was not. All three men were married to women named – Jim searched the entries. Carolina. Carol. Caroline. Fuck. What the hell was going on? Jim didn't have to think long before he realized that the two times Carolyn Plummer had been with him, he'd had horrible sensory spikes. Was it a warning? Did his very senses know enough to warn him away from the woman? Could it be that she was somehow tied up in this entire mess, and had been for three hundred years? Jim snorted and rose. That was impossible! He dropped the journals and strode from the library to the kitchen. He was tired and hungry, and he knew his mind was messed up when he started thinking crazy thoughts such as these. Even thinking that he, Jake – or Blair, or whatever the fuck his name was, and Carolyn Plummer were involved in a three hundred year span of suicide, witchcraft, adultery and God knows what else was plain nuts. 

In the kitchen, Jim brewed a fresh pot of coffee and fixed a ham sandwich three inches high, piled with tomatoes, cheese, pickles, lettuce and lots of spicy mustard. He sat at the table with his food and the coffeepot, munching and trying to forget about this entire mess. He did not believe in fate or karma or ghosts or reincarnation or evil spirits or ghouls or demons or.... Clamping down on his runaway thoughts, he turned his attention to his food. Finished with his meal, he was suddenly sleepy. Turning out the lights on the way to his room, he smelled balsam and apples on the second floor landing. 

"Go to bed, Blair," Jim muttered curtly. With a roll of his eyes, he went into the bathroom, washed up and crawled, naked, between the sheets. He settled in but sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned, feeling guilty over his treatment of Jake earlier. Finally, he contritely whispered to the empty room, "Jake? I'm sorry. Okay? I'm really sorry." Within a few short minutes after his heartfelt entreaty, he was deeply asleep, not noticing the fragrance of apples and balsam that filled his room.

\-------------------------------------------- 

Dawn came, cold and dreary. The local radio station reported a rough Thursday ahead, weather-wise. They predicted a major storm, promising heavy rain, hail, thunder, lightning and high winds. Jim rolled from his bed with a resigned sigh after listening to the news report on his bedside clock radio. Sniffing lightly, he sighed again. There were no breakfast smells this morning. He sent his senses carefully through the house, but he found no evidence of Jake's presence. 

Rising, Jim took a quick shower, shaved and brushed his teeth. After a breakfast of cold cereal, he put a fresh pot of coffee on to brew. Standing at the windows overlooking the cliff and ocean beyond, he watched the clouds churn and boil. Flashes of lightning danced through the heavens and thunder echoed through Jim's head. Figuring that the electricity wouldn't last long, Jim went about the chores needed to ensure he was adequately prepared. 

He stored several gallons of clean water in the refrigerator to cool while the power lasted, and filled the bathtubs to use for toilet duty. He laid in a supply of candles and matches throughout the house, and placed the only two flashlights he had available, plus his one set of extra batteries, on the kitchen table. He filled his camp lantern with fuel and placed that in the vestibule. Checking his food supply, he discovered he had a good stock of canned goods, peanut butter, crackers and other foodstuffs that didn't need refrigeration or cooking. Luckily, he also had his camp stove, which he placed on the kitchen counter. He would use whatever was in the fridge first and then move onto the canned and non-perishable foods if need be. Satisfied with his preparations, he prepared a quick lunch. 

Fixing a bowl of chicken noodle soup and two grilled cheese sandwiches, he enjoyed the hot food in his belly. Skipping the coffee, he had a beer with his meal and washed up when he finished. The storm outside continued, but so far, it was not the dire weather that the radio had predicted. While it rained steadily and the lightning flashed, the storm was relatively mild compared to some of the weather Jim had seen in his lifetime. He stood in the shelter of the roof over the back terrace and studied the heavens. He tentatively opened his senses to the storm. He felt the power of the electrical currents dance along his skin. He tasted the salty rain through the pores on his skin. He sniffed the air around him, full of ocean smells. Various sounds filtered in and he heard the waves pounding harder than usual against the foot of the cliff. The wind blew strongly and drops of cool rain tickled his bare arms. 

Staring up into the heavens, Jim was awe-struck. During a storm, and with his regular eyesight, the sky would look black, gray and white. With his enhanced vision, he saw every color of the rainbow mixed with the clouds. The world swirled before his eyes and for a moment, he was dizzy watching the clouds tumble over each other in an endless race to nowhere. Regaining his bearings, he carefully disengaged his senses to return to what he considered normal. With a shocked look, he stood very still. He had used his senses willingly and he hadn't had an episode; not even the inkling of one. Wondering what had happened to trigger this ability to control them so easily, he thought about the past few days. 

Since he had come to the 'mausoleum', he realized that his senses were relatively calm. When he was around Jake, they were clear and easily used. In fact, when he was around his new companion, they were almost like a part of him, instead of the enemy trying to attack. The only time he had had trouble since his arrival was when *she* came around. Jim grimaced for a moment before he smiled, thinking of Jake once again. He went back inside and secured the doors against the storm. He wiped a few drops of water from his face and walked through the library. That's when he smelled it yet again, apples and balsam. He stopped and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. His body reacted. His blood burned; his heart beat rapidly; his mouth opened. He could taste the fragrances flitting on his tongue. 

Breathing deeply to gather in all of the heady smell that he possibly could, another essence touched his nasal passages. "Beef?" Jim muttered, his eyes flying open. "And potatoes? Carrots... Hmmmm, celery, too." Jim grinned. Jake was back! "Thank God," he said aloud to the empty room before racing into the kitchen to see his friend setting the table. 

"Hey, Jim," Jake said, voice subdued. He stopped putting out the silverware and stood uncomfortably. "I hope you don't mind. I felt like cooking." 

Jim's gaze took in the nicely set table. Candles graced the center and a small basket filled with freshly cut greens decorated it. "This is nice, Chief. I don't mind at all. Besides, it's good to see you. What smells so great?" Jim crossed the room to stand a few inches away from Jake, breathing in the fragrance of the man. He smelled like toothpaste, and shampoo and soap, but underneath all of that, the faintest odor of apples and balsam lingered. Jim put his hands on Jake's shoulders and said, "Listen. About last night... I'm sorry. I was – upset." 

Jake's gaze didn't meet Jim's. "Yeah. Okay." 

"I'm serious. I understand a lot more today than yesterday. I found the journals." Jim gave Jake a small shake. 

"Oh. Good, then. I hope they helped." 

"Have you read them?"

"No. They're personal – private. Besides, I don't have to read them." 

"Why not?" Jim asked quietly. 

Shrugging, Jake shifted his feet. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving!" 

"It's a bit early, but I thought I'd cook while you still had power. It's pot roast. Nothing fancy." Jake moved away from Jim's hold, placing a paper napkin at each setting. Still not meeting Jim's eyes, he said, "I didn't find any flowers in bloom in the garden, so I cut these. Do you like the smell of fresh herbs?" 

"Everything smells fantastic. When can we eat?" Jim continued to gaze at his companion until Jake finally raised his eyes to meet Jim's. He smiled tentatively, and Jim smiled in return. 

"In about thirty minutes." 

"Good. I'll wash up." Jim lathered his hands at the kitchen sink, his eyes flicking over to his companion. Jake was bent over the stove, sliding a tray of biscuits into the oven. His backside, encased in the usual worn jeans, was round and firm. It beckoned to Jim: touch me, kiss me, love me. Not knowing whether to be shocked or laugh, Jim snorted and turned away. 

"What?" Jake asked. 

Jim rinsed his hands and dried them on a towel. "Nothing," he said innocently. 

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Okay," he drawled. "Get some glasses out, please. We might as well drink some of that milk before the electricity dies." 

"Good idea," Jim answered, turning to dig in the cupboard for two glasses. He turned back to the table and looked toward the back door. The glasses fell from his hands and shattered on the floor. 

"Jim! This is wonderful! I thought I was going to cook!" Carolyn Plummer waltzed through the back door, water from her yellow rain slicker dripping onto the clean tile. She put the plastic grocery bags she carried down on the nearest counter and yanked off the hood. "It smells absolutely fantastic. You are such a sweet man!" Carolyn extolled, eyeing the table. "This is so romantic! And all of this for little old me." She batted her eyelashes at Jim. 

Surprised, Jim stood very still for a long moment before he searched the room and then the house with his senses. As far as he could tell, he was alone in the house with his nemesis, Carolyn Plummer. His mind refused to comprehend what had happened to Jake, and the bright, flashing lights that pierced his eyes confused his brain. He could barely think. Placing a hand on the nearest counter, Jim leaned on his hand and rubbed his head. 

"Jim, are you okay?" Carolyn hung her slicker on a hook by the back door and raced to Jim's side where she clamped a hand on his arm. 

Jim jerked from her grasp. "What are you doing here?" he asked harshly, unable to hide his anger at the woman's very presence. 

"What? James Ellison, you know very well we had dinner planned. Remember?" Carolyn stood, hands on hips, instantly angry. "Are you telling me that this isn't for me?" She waved toward the nicely set table. "Nobody else is here, and two places are set," she needlessly pointed out. 

"It's not for you," Jim said coldly. "Listen. I don't know what you expect from me, but whatever it is, I'm just not interested. I don't mean to be rude, but I'd like for you to leave." 

"Leave? In this weather?" Carolyn screeched. "Are you nuts? Besides, I thought we'd –”

Jim interrupted, "You made it here, didn't you? The weather didn't stop you. The wind's died down. It's the best time for you to go home before it kicks back up again."

"You're serious about this? You are such a bastard! Your entire family were bastards and you're no different!" Carolyn shouted into Jim's face, spittle flying from her open mouth and hitting Jim's cheek. 

"You need to leave," Jim said coldly. "Go now." He would have dragged the woman to the door but the very thought of touching her made his blood run cold. He did, however, take a step toward her, trying to appear menacing and hoping that she would be intimidated enough to flee of her own accord. 

Thankfully, the ploy worked. Her eyes widened and her tongue nervously licked her red lips. "You haven't heard the last of me," she hissed. 

Jim shook his head to clear it of the pounding at his temples. "What?" he demanded. "Are you threatening me?" He moved forward a half step, glaring down into the woman's cold eyes. 

Carolyn's face immediately paled. She took a step back, and visibly shrank. "No," she said in a much quieter voice. "Of course not. You're – tired. I'll call you later in the week." 

"Don't bother." 

Carolyn turned without another word, grabbed her raincoat and yanked it on. Flipping the attached hood over her head, she gave Jim one last sidelong look before she bolted, leaving the back door wide open. 

\------------------------------------------------------

Jim sighed deeply and sank into the nearest chair. The door slowly closed, seemingly of its own volition, but the scent of balsam and apples told Jim otherwise. 

"Jake?" When he received no response, he called, "Blair?" After waiting for many long minutes, Jim spoke quietly. "Listen, Jake. I'm not sure what's going on. I only know that when you're around I feel – whole, safe. I was going crazy until I came here. I was sure I would end it all like my infamous ancestors by going nuts from these senses, but since I've met you, well, I feel great! I like it when you're near." Jim paused before he said, "I like you. I'd like to get to know you better and I'd sure as hell like to eat this dinner with you. What do you say?" Jim waited, his head turning to look, his ears open to hear. "Please," he said softly. "Please – Jake." 

"If you like... you may call me Blair." Jim turned and Jake – Blair stood in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, looking vulnerable. "James and Blair have always belonged together. Always." 

Jim nodded. "Yeah, it's written in the stars. Or at least in the journals," he added with a smile. 

"Yeah, I guess. Listen, about your senses..." Blair took a step forward. "You're a Sentinel, man. A tribal protector. Well, as much as we have tribes nowadays." 

"And that means what exactly?" Jim asked, afraid to move, afraid to frighten off Ja- Blair, afraid he'd disappear and Jim would never see him again. The thought painfully stabbed into Jim's heart, making him jerk and hold his breath. 

Blair must have observed the sudden sharp movement of Jim's body. "Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly concerned. He crossed to Jim's side and put a firm hand on his arm. 

Jim pressed his fingers over Blair's. The touch felt warm, and welcome, and oh so right. "You're warm!" 

"Yes. You expected what? Cold flesh? I'm not a ghost." Blair shrugged. "At least I don't think I am." 

"No, I don't think you are either, but then again, I don't know what you are." Jim gave a shrug of his own. "I've seen you eat. Ghosts can't eat, can they? But how in the hell do you manage to disappear so quickly?"

Blair sighed, tugging on a strand of his hair. "I can't explain it. When – she comes, I run. I don't even think about it. My feet just move away as far as possible, and I'm just – gone." 

"She? Plummer?"

Blair nodded, springy curls bouncing against his shoulders. "I don't want to talk about her. Please, Jim." 

Jim smelled the fear emanating from Blair's body, and heard the pounding of his heart. Rising, he nodded. "Let's eat," he invited quietly. He had to grin at the instantaneous change in Blair's face from tentative to happy. 

"Cool. I'm starved!" 

Blair took a step toward the stove when the lights blinked once, twice and then died. The refrigerator stopped, the furnace kicked off, and the house was plunged into darkness. 

"Stay put, Chief. I'll get the lantern." 

"No, man. Light the candles. We'll eat by candlelight."

"Oh, okay," Jim agreed eagerly. "That will be nice." 

Jim lit four candles and strategically placed them around the table. "Can you see to get the food out? Don't burn yourself." 

"Got it- Ouch!" 

Jim raced to Blair's side, grabbing the injured hand. "You're burned!" 

"Good observation, cop man." 

"But I didn't think... I thought...."

"I'm here, Jim. At least I think I'm here. But don't worry. It's a minor burn. I'll be fine." Blair gently removed his hand from Jim's and with potholders, removed the large pan from the oven. "Get the biscuits, please." 

Jim nodded and with another set of potholders, carried the pan to the table. Tossing two hotplates down, he put his pan on one while Blair put his on the other. 

"Let's see," Blair mused, pulling the lid from the pot and fetching a large spoon from a drawer. "We need our drink and butter." 

"Got it, Chief." Jim smiled, retrieving the half-gallon bottle of milk and a stick of butter from the fridge. 

"Good. Real butter. None of that fake stuff." 

"The real stuff tastes better. Let me sweep up this glass before one of us gets hurt." 

"You dropped the glasses," Blair stated calmly. 

"Yeah. Silly me," Jim muttered. Fetching a broom and dust pan from the pantry, he swept the broken pieces up and tossed them into the trash bin. Then the men sat down together. Blair dished up large portions before passing the biscuits. They were quiet while they sated their hunger. Jim made happy sounds while he dipped his biscuit bites into the hot gravy. Blair grinned at Jim's enjoyment of the food and from the amount he ate, seemed to be enjoying his meal as well. 

"Oh, man. That was great! Thanks, Chief!" Jim said after his second plate. "You can cook for me every day." 

"Thanks. I'd love to." 

"Okay, deal." 

"What?" Blair said, surprised. "You mean that?"

"Yes, I do. I don't know what's going on or where you're staying..." Jim waved a hand through the air, "but I want you to stay with me. Teach me about these damned senses and help me stay sane." 

"And in exchange, I cook for you." 

Jim grinned. "Seems like a fair trade." 

Blair laughed. "Yeah, right." 

"What do you do anyway?" 

The smile faded from Blair's face. "I – don't... It's hard to explain... I'm here." 

Jim saw the conflict on Blair's handsome face. "Hey, we'll figure that out later. Tell me about this Sentinel thing." 

Easily distracted, Blair launched into a lecture about Sentinels, Guides, Richard Burton (the explorer, not the actor), and hyperactive senses. He rose once during his recitation and, from a breadbox on the counter, produced a fresh peach pie. Slicing huge wedges, he passed Jim a plate and clean fork. 

"What? No ice cream?" Jim teased. 

Blair laughed. "Let's see." A quick trip to the freezer revealed, to Jim, a quart of French vanilla, no artificial ingredients added. "Ta da! Might as well eat it before it melts!" 

"You're too good to me, Chief." 

"That's impossible, James," Blair said softly. "It's you who I have to thank for all of this." 

"This?" Jim asked between bites of peach pie and melting ice cream. 

"Being here with you. Feeling whole and alive. Sharing with you. Thank you." 

Jim blushed at the compliment and at Blair's emotions that were plainly written on his face. Jim saw the appreciation, the kindness, the thoughtfulness, and yes, even the love Blair had for him. "Eat your pie, Blair." 

Blair smiled. "Sure, Jim." Between bites, he continued his lecture to his attentive class of one. 

\-----------------------------------------------

"The storm's getting stronger," Jim observed several hours later. 

Tucked into the small sitting room off the large front parlor, Jim had lit a fire in the fireplace. Blair curled on an overstuffed chair, drowsing in the warmth, blanket over his legs. Jim smiled at how young and innocent he looked – and how desirable. Thumbing through a book from his equally comfortable chair, Jim felt the quiet of the moment settle over him. With Blair at his side, he was content. His senses were under control, but more importantly, Jim felt at peace, something he never thought he'd ever experience in his lifetime. 

Closing his book, Jim briefly reflected on his life. Raised by his father, with whom he had a rocky relationship, he rarely saw his younger brother. Sometimes he regretted the fact that he and his sibling weren't closer, but Jim had left home as soon as he graduated high school. A long stint in the military was followed by a quick college degree in criminology, then onto the police academy. Jim had found his place with the Cascade PD, or so he thought, until even his own body seemed to turn on him, and he was forced to seek refuge in this abandoned house. 

Jim snorted at his own musings. He didn't feel like he was 'seeking refuge', he felt like he'd come home. This huge, old, dark house felt like 'home' to him. Warm and inviting and safe. And he wasn't stupid enough to not admit that a very large portion of the secure feeling was because of his companion, because of Blair. He might be hardheaded sometimes, but not usually to his own detriment. Blair was good for him, so he admitted it to himself. With a grin, he decided he might as well admit it to the object of his desire as well. 

Jim rose from his comfortable chair and walked over to where Blair slept. Kneeling in front of his chair, Jim put a hand on Blair's knee and gently squeezed. Smoky eyelashes fluttered before deep blue eyes opened. A soft smile and a welcoming look were Jim's rewards. 

"Hey," Blair said quietly, putting his hand on Jim's cheek and cupping the strong face. "You okay?"

Jim nodded, placing his hand over Blair's and leaning into the touch. Closing his eyes, he said, "Better than okay." 

"Great." 

"I'm falling in love with you." Peering through half-closed lids, Jim watched Blair's face. He saw the surprise that was quickly replaced by pleasure. 

"I am in love with you," Blair responded, leaning forward very slowly. 

"You sound so sure." 

"I am. Very sure," Blair said just before their lips touched. 

Jim sighed into the gentle pressure of Blair's warm skin against his. He enjoyed the velvet flesh of his lover's mouth and tasted the familiarity of a long-lost love, now found. Warmth flowed through Jim's veins. His body happily responded. It felt like coming home and Jim's brain shouted, It's about time! Jim chuckled against Blair's mouth. 

"What?" Blair asked, his hand petting the short, soft hairs at the back of Jim's head. 

Jim smiled. "That was wonderful! I'm so happy I just – laughed." 

Blair smiled in return and kissed Jim again, still lightly and almost playfully. Jim had never kissed a man before. He was surprised at the softness of Blair's lips and the silky texture of the skin surrounding them. While his beard and upper lip were a bit rough, the skin was inviting. Even the day's growth of hair felt strangely erotic to the newly-informed Sentinel. He deepened the kiss slightly, just enough to test what Blair wanted. 

Blair's response was immediate. His arm slipped around Jim's neck and he held on. Jim moaned very softly and pulled back slightly, enough to lightly lick the warm skin of his lover's mouth. The lips parted immediately, granting Jim entrance to the wet, sizzling depths. This time, Jim groaned deeply and pulled Blair into his arms, his tongue carefully exploring the new territory. When Blair whimpered and tightened his grasp of Jim's neck, Jim responded quickly, kissing Blair firmly, alternating with more kisses to his lover's cheeks, nose and forehead before returning again and again to the lips that begged to be kissed, and kissed hard. 

Jim felt his entire body respond to Blair's arousal. The whimpers from his lover's throat and Blair's hands caressing his head and neck encouraged him. Pulling Blair from the chair, they knelt on the floor, arms wrapped around each other. Passionately and relentlessly, Jim kissed his lover until Blair was trembling in his arms. Jim's hands cupped Blair's buttocks firmly and he brought their bodies together. Blair's hardness dug into his thigh while his own erection pressed into Blair's stomach. 

"Upstairs," Jim managed to blurt out between deep kisses. 

"Yes," Blair whispered, licking his swollen lips. 

Jim groaned at the sight of Blair's tongue, pink and wet, swiping over his own lips. "God, Chief. I want you." 

Blair nodded. "I want you so much. I love you. I've waited so long!" 

Jim returned Blair's nod with one of his own. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner." 

Blair's lips kissed along Jim's chin and down his neck. "You're here now." 

"Yes," Jim answered simply. 

Blair suddenly stopped; Jim looked down onto the top of his lover's bent head. He focused on Blair's body and while he knew the pounding of Blair's heart was from his arousal, he also sensed something else. 

"What?" Jim asked softly. "Are you okay?"

Blair shook his head and buried his face in Jim's chest.

"Tell me." 

Shaking his head again, Blair's arms tightened around Jim's waist. 

"Please..." 

"I... I'm so happy!" Raising his face, Blair's eyes were large and bright. "Is this for real? You want me forever? This isn't just until the morning or until next week, or worse yet, until something better comes along?" 

"What can I say to convince you? For me, this is very real. You're very real, and my love is very real. I want you and only you. I want a permanent commitment with you, Blair. I'm willing to pledge myself to you right here and now." 

Blair's gaze locked with Jim's. "Yes. I want that more than anything, but Jim, I'm a man. You're a man, and a cop. How can we ever do this? How can you feel safe with a man for a partner? I'm afraid for you. If we do this, it might be better if –” 

"No! I can't hide you, Chief. Don't ask me to! If this is supposed to be, then let it happen! I'm so tired of always doing what's expected of me and never doing what I want! I want you, and by God, I'm going to have you unless you tell me to fuck off for good." Jim's eyes flashed and his mouth tightened, but when he looked into his lover's eyes and saw the love for him reflected there, his voice softened. "I love you, Blair. Will you have me?" 

Blair's eyes filled and before his emotions overtook him, he blurted, "Oh, yes. God yes, I'll have you, now and forever." He again pressed his face against Jim's chest, murmuring, "I love you, too." 

Jim put his hand under Blair's chin and raised his face. "You're mine now." 

Kisses were rained down onto Blair's face. Every inch was touched, kissed and licked. Then Jim's fingers found Blair's shirt and he slowly unbuttoned each button, kissing the skin as it was exposed. He thoroughly and completely covered Blair's chest, arms and shoulders with more kisses and licks. 

"You taste wonderful," Jim murmured. "So spicy and warm..." 

Blair smiled, his body trembling under his lover's gentle assault. "Make love with me." 

"I will – eventually," Jim said with a smile. "Right now, I'm exploring." Returning to Blair's chest, he licked the twin nubs to hardness yet again, leaving them wet and glistening. "You don't mind, do you?" Jim politely asked. 

"No," Blair said softly. "Not at all, but you're kind of doing all the work here. I feel like I should participate more." 

Jim chuckled. "Nope. I'm having way too much fun. Besides, I like making you sweat." Jim wiped a finger across Blair's upper lip and licked the moisture from the tip. "I like hearing your heart pound and I like when you can't help but moan when I touch you." Jim's tongue explored Blair's ear, licking and nibbling on the soft skin. "I like giving you goosebumps," Jim added with a grin. "I just know I'm going to love making you scream my name." 

"Oh, God," Blair whispered harshly. "Jim, you're driving me nuts!" 

Jim just smiled and returned to his explorations. He unbuttoned Blair's jeans and unzipped them, nuzzling his nose in the triangle of cloth that peeked through. "You smell hot." 

Blair laughed. "What does "hot" smell like?"

Jim shrugged. "Don't know. Like you." 

"I smell hot. Hot smells like me. Kind of a conundrum, huh?"

Jim's teeth tugged at the waistband of Blair's boxers. "Uh-hmmm. What? A condom?"

Blair giggled. "No, a conundrum."

"Oh, right. My mind was elsewhere." 

"Obviously." 

"Do you blame me? Besides, I thought we talked about moving this to the bedroom." 

"Yes, we did. Before I kind of freaked out." 

"So are we good?"

"Definitely. We're great." Blair kissed Jim's reddened lips. "Together, we're better than great. So, about the bedroom. It's kind of cold out and with no heat, I like being near the fire. What do you say to camping out right here?" 

"Sounds good to me," Jim murmured, yet again returning to Blair's lips and kissing him amorously. When both men were breathless, Jim reluctantly pulled back. "I can't get enough of your mouth." 

Eyes wide, Blair mutely nodded, making Jim laugh. "You too, huh?" Another nod had Jim laughing aloud. His lover was breathless, panting and almost non-verbal, and they hadn't even gotten to the "good stuff". 

"This is going to be wonderful," Jim said. 

"Yeah," Blair managed to say, making Jim laugh yet again. 

"God, Chief! I love you!" Jim pulled Blair into his arms. 

\---------------------------------------------

"Time out!" Blair blurted out. "Jim!" 

Jim reluctantly released the nipple he had been giving his full attention to for the past five minutes and looked up into Blair's flushed, sweating face. "You okay?"

"Jim, please! I've got to catch my breath or this is going to be over in the next two minutes." Blair shifted his hips. 

Jim nodded. "Anything you want, babe." 

Blair smiled, lovingly putting a hand on the side of Jim's face. "You called me babe," he said shyly. 

"Sorry, it just slipped out." 

"No, it was very special. I've never had anybody call me that before. It's nice." Blair smiled warmly. 

Lying at Blair's side, Jim propped his head on his hand and rubbed a hand on Blair's furry belly. "You're one little hairy guy." 

"You want me to shave it off?" Blair offered sexily. 

Jim swallowed hard. "Really? You'd do that for me? It's kind of – kinky." 

Blair laughed. "Sure. It's just hair. If it turns you on, I'll shave it off. All of it." 

"Oh!" Jim blushed. "Maybe one of these days. You'd really do that for me?"

"Jim, understand this. For you, I'd do anything you like, short of illegal, unethical or immoral. We can experiment in bed and out of bed. I trust you." 

Jim bent his head for a second as his eyes prickled. His emotions were running high tonight, he knew. He cleared his throat before he raised his face to look into Blair's eyes, letting all the warmth and love he felt shine through. "Same for me, Blair. I trust you." 

"Thank you. That means a lot. So... if you don't mind, I'd like to visit the bathroom and get out of these jeans." 

"Okay. Sounds like a plan. I'll do the same and we'll meet back here in fifteen. You need anything?" 

"Nope, got it covered," Blair said, grinning. 

Rising, Jim gave Blair one of the flashlights before both men went about their chores. Jim went upstairs but his senses remained locked on his mate. While he washed his face and hands, used the toilet, and brushed his teeth, he listened to Blair do the same in the first floor bathroom. Jim stripped off his clothes and after giving himself a fast sponge bath, he slipped into clean, mossy green silk boxers and a white muscle t-shirt. Jim heard Blair's clothes peel from his body. He heard the sounds of washing and the occasional mutter from his lover. Grinning, Jim listened unashamedly to Blair talking to himself. 

"Oh, man. He's so great. Not just the body, the person. He's smart and handsome and he wants me! Dorky, nerdy me! What my mama would say! Hell, Jake... Whoa, Blair now. He likes my name even. Blair and Jim... Ahhh...." 

The sound of the toilet flushing reminded Jim that he was eavesdropping. Pulling back with a grin, he went back downstairs to the kitchen. He was surprised when he realized he negotiated the dark house without a flashlight or candle. Then he realized that his control was improving by the minute. Thanks to Blair. Jim grinned, digging through the fridge until he found what he was looking for, an unopened bottle of white wine that he had put in to chill the day before. Wrapping a hand around the bottle, he was pleased to find it was still cool. He opened the wine and dug out two tumblers. His good wine glasses were still in transit, so these would have to do. Putting the wine and glasses on a tray, he returned to the fridge to pull out two wedges of cheese. He cubed the Swiss and sharp Cheddar, added a bunch of grapes and then carried his presentation to the library. 

Blair smiled at his lover when he walked into the room. Jim glanced over to the fireplace and saw that Blair had pulled pillows from the sofas, along with a couple of blankets from a spare bed, and made a cozy nest in front of the fireplace. 

"Very nice," Jim said, setting the tray down on the small end table that Blair moved closer to their makeshift bed. "Wine?"

"Yes, please." Blair's eyes sparkled when he looked at Jim, making Jim grin. 

"You look nice," Jim said, taking in the shirtless chest and the soft navy blue cotton sleep bottoms that graced Blair's lower body. He had brushed his hair and the strands danced with static electricity. Jim could almost see the sparks dancing from the ends. Jim grinned and drank in his fill of Blair's body. Pouring the wine, he handed Blair a glass. Together, they sat on their nest, sipping the cool wine and nibbling cheese bits. 

"The storm is getting worse," Blair said, listening to the wind batter the rain against the windows. 

Jim cocked his head and listened. "It's definitely stronger. The waves against the cliff are really pounding those rocks." 

"It's nice to be safe and warm in here with you," Blair said softly, sipping the wine. His eyes met Jim's over his glass. 

"It is." 

Setting his glass onto the hearth, Blair said, "Now where were we?"

"Just about here," Jim responded, adding his glass to Blair's. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around his lover's neck, lacing his fingers together. When Blair's arms circled Jim's waist, Jim pulled Blair into his embrace.

"Wait, wait."

"What?"

"Lose the shirt. I haven't seen you naked yet." 

Jim grinned and held up his arms. When Blair tugged the shirt over Jim's head and tossed it onto the chair, his gaze drank in his lover's muscled chest. 

"Oh my God! You are fantastic! Jim..." 

Smiling, Jim said, "Yes?" 

"Damn it to hell, Ellison," Blair growled. "That is the sexiest thing I have ever seen." Blair's eyes turned dark, and immediately, he leaned forward and his lips latched onto the right nipple on Jim's chest – the nipple that was pierced with a simple silver barbell. 

"God, Chief! Oh.... Blair!" Jim arched into the strong suction that worked the tightened nub. When Blair's teeth captured the stud and pulled, Jim almost screamed. Shards of pleasure spiked from his nipple straight to his groin. His body responded and his cock filled. "Blair!" 

When Blair pushed against Jim's shoulders, Jim went backward without protest, sprawling into the pile of pillows. Blair followed Jim's body, relentlessly kissing and sucking the pierced nipple. It was when he gently bit down that Jim let out a small cry and arched his back. 

Blair finally released the reddened nub, and gave an extremely satisfied look. "Like that?"

"Oh, God. Oh, God." The sweat beads ran down the side of Jim's face were licked by Blair. Jim moaned. 

"Are you okay? Is it too much for your senses?" Jim's mouth fell open, but no words emerged. He closed his mouth and licked his lips, shuddering. "Jim? Are you all right? Please, Jim, talk to me," Blair begged, his voice filled with fear. "I'm so sorry!" 

"No... Wait..." Jim whispered, immediately regretting Blair's reaction to his momentary feeling of being overwhelmed. "No, it was – wonderful! I need – to catch my breath before I come all over myself." Jim peered at Blair through half-closed lids. "Why are you way over there?" he asked, glaring at Blair, who had moved a good ten feet away. 

Blair shrugged from his hunched position. "I thought I hurt you." 

"Get over here," Jim growled teasingly. "I just need something to focus on. It's kind of overwhelming."

Blair examined Jim's face for a few moments before he asked, "Jim, have you made love since your senses came on line?"

Jim rolled his eyes and turned his face away. "No," he finally admitted. 

"How long has it been?" Blair asked. He reached out to put a hand on Jim's arm, but he abruptly pulled back. 

Jim saw the action and scowled. "If you don't get over here in the next two seconds, I'm coming to get you. One..." 

Blair stuck out his tongue while he moved closer. "Dick." 

"Smartass." 

"Sorry." 

"No more apologies! I'm fine. I'm more than fine, in fact. It's just been a hell of a long while since I even bothered to think about sex. Not with these senses, anyway. It's been a while... Almost four years," Jim finally admitted. 

"Okay, let me think. I know!" Blair said emphatically. "Let's use something simple – a dial. You dial the sense you want up or down at will. I'll bet you can do that, and then you'll have control. Give it a try!" When Jim gave Blair a skeptical look, Blair said, "Hey, man. It's your body. If you don't even want to try..." He sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. 

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Don't even try that reverse psychology shit on me, Chief." After another moment, he finally said, "Okay, I'll try." 

"Cool! Close your eyes and dial your hearing up, then down." 

Jim did as bid and after a few moments, a smile crossed his face. "It works! Great idea, Blair! Very good." Jim closed his eyes again and after another minute, he opened them to look into Blair's smiling face. "You smell wonderful. Now come here." 

Blair grinned and moved closer to Jim. Leaning down, he lightly kissed Jim's lips before moving onto his cheek and along his chin. Jim turned his head and offered his neck to Blair's explorations. The warm lips traveled down Jim's face, neck and shoulders. 

Jim loved the way Blair made little noises while he investigated Jim's body with his mouth. Jim felt each press of his lips, each lick of his tongue, each brush of his teeth. Jim's cock, which had softened during his overwhelming episode earlier, filled again and rose, tenting his boxers. When Blair's journey took him to the waistband, Jim lifted his hips in invitation. Blair didn't hesitate, but slipped his thumbs under the elastic and gently tugged the clothing from his lover's body, revealing the firm, full penis. 

"Touch me," Jim asked quietly. "Please." 

"I'd love to, Jim." 

Jim closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel his lover's hands examining his body. He felt the warm fingers as they lightly danced along his hard length. The delicious touch made him groan and he felt himself harden even more. When those fingers gently lifted his testicles and his lover's warm hand cupped them, Jim moaned softly, spreading his legs. He was surprised that he could feel the tiny calluses on Blair's hand against his skin. With an effort, he turned his senses from himself to his lover. 

Blair's breathing was quick and light. His heart pounded and his body released an inviting smell. Jim concentrated, cataloguing the fragrance. He was puzzled for a moment before he realized it was the scent of his lover's arousal. With a deep moan, Jim stored the welcome scent into his brain, along with Blair's "normal" smells, the sound of his voice and the now-familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. Not completely understanding what was happening, Jim recognized that it was something special. Without realizing it, he was imprinting his lover into his entire body, physically, mentally and emotionally. The bond between the Sentinel and his companion was almost complete. 

Jim felt a hot, wet heat engulf his cock. He held his breath and clenched his hands when he realized that Blair had taken him into his mouth and wrapped his lips around the head of his erection. Jim pushed his hips up, seeking the warmth and suction of his lover's mouth. 

"Blair!" Jim called. "God, Blair. I'm going to –” 

Blair released the wet flesh with a sloppy noise. "You are so beautiful," he said, kissing the weeping head before sliding up Jim's body. "Want to make love to you." 

"Yes." Jim lazily smiled before the actual words penetrated and his eyes flew open. "Blair, you don't mean... You can't want me to... Or do you want to... you know, to me?" 

"Jim, man. Calm down. It's okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want. I'm perfectly happy with oral sex. You taste wonderful and you smell pretty damned good, too." 

"You want me to...? Jim blushed. 

"Want, Jim? Penetration? If you can't say it, man, you sure as hell can't do it," Blair said with a laugh. "It's okay. Calm down." Blair's hands caressed Jim's chest in wide, soothing strokes, running a finger over the pierced nipple. "Take it easy. I love you. It can wait, or we can skip it all together." Seeing Jim's conflict, Blair said, "Am I pushing too hard? I'm sorry. I've waited so long for you, I just want it all and right now. I'm sorry." 

"No, it's okay. Don't apologize. Honestly, I just never considered it, but now that I have, I don't understand why I'm hesitating. It's not awful or dirty or disgusting, but something else..." Jim soothingly rubbed Blair's shoulder for a moment before the reason for his trepidation materialized. "Are you experienced in this, Chief?" 

Blair looked away for a second before he looked directly at Jim and admitted, "No. I've never done it before." 

"But you have had sex with another person before?"

"No, Jim. I haven't. I've been waiting for you." 

"You were waiting for me." 

"Yes." 

"And you were sure I was coming?"

"Yes. You always come, Jim."

"I always come," Jim echoed, feeling like an idiot for parroting Blair's words. "I always come. Oh, shit. You've waited for me? For how long?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. Years and years." 

"How many years?"

"I didn't keep track." 

"Three hundred? In all those years, they – we never..." 

Blair shook his head. "No." 

"You're a virgin." 

"Duh." 

"You are such a smart mouth!" 

"Sorry. Jim, man, listen to me. I love you. I'm here for you. I want you. The End." 

"Can you drive?"

"What?"

"Can you drive?"

"A car?" Blair asked with a hint of exasperation. "Of course."

"Do you work?"

"Yes." Blair gave Jim a strange look. "What, you think I've waited here, in this house for you for three hundred years? Do I look that old?"

"I'm not... What's going on? Do you know what a computer is?"

"Hey, I can surf the net with the best of them." 

"So you're real." 

Blair laughed. "No, man. I'm a figment of your imagination." 

"That's not funny!" 

"Well, I figure it this way. If I am a figment, why don't we fuck like bunnies? No harm, no foul. I'm not here anyway, right?"

"It can't be my imagination. You feel real. You smell real. You taste real." 

"Jim, I am real. I'm here. I'm your – partner, lover, whatever you want to call me. I can drive. I can eat. Hell, man, I can take a pee. Can a ghost do that?"

"No." 

"Jim, do you want me to leave?" Blair tentatively asked. 

"No!" Jim emphatically said. 

"Do you want me?"

"God, yes." 

Blair's eyes met Jim's. "Do you want me to make love with you?" 

"Yes." 

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Jim immediately answered. 

"Okay, then. If you had hesitated, I'd have been out of here. You didn't. You said you trust me. So trust me, Jim. Trust me." 

"Okay," Jim said softly, rubbing Blair's leg nearest his hand. 

Blair nodded. He turned toward the table for a moment and grabbed a small container that Jim hadn't even noticed sitting there amongst the wine bottle, glasses and cheese. Blair unscrewed the bottle, tipped the contents into his hands. He paused, holding out his hand toward Jim. 

Jim's nostrils flared. The warmth of Blair's skin released a pleasantly fruity scent from the lubricant pooled in his palm. "That smells nice." 

"It's called Pucker-up Passion Fruit. All natural, so you won't have to worry about allergic reactions. I think some of your sensory problems can be cleared up with natural products. With your senses, you're probably extremely sensitive." 

"Oh! I hadn't thought of that," Jim said. "It never occurred to me that any of the physical crap could be from allergies. Thank you!" Jim squeaked on the last word when the warm hands started to spread the lube on his half-hardened dick. "Chief!" 

"Yes," Blair answered, massaging the skin with both hands. 

Jim's mouth fell open when Blair's hands captured and caressed the slippery stuff over his quickly hardening cock. "Oh!" 

"Like that, huh?"

While Jim's mouth opened, he nodded, unable to speak other than to push up with his hips and pant. 

Blair threw a leg over Jim's thighs and after releasing the now-glistening, well-lubed dick, Blair reached under his own body and rubbed a good bit of the lube onto his opening. Jim's eyes widened and he held his breath while Blair moved into position. Carefully holding the slick organ, he slowly and gently lowered himself onto Jim's body until they were completely joined. Jim's eyes were wide and surprised as he watched himself disappear into his lover's body. 

Blair remained very still until Jim said, "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yes. Just – adjusting. It feels – big." 

"It doesn't – hurt?" Jim asked, still in awe at what Blair had just done. 

"It's kind of – stretched but no, it doesn't hurt. Other than a first quick burn, it's okay. I feel so – full." Blair leaned down, bracing himself with a hand on either side of Jim's head, and looked into his lover's eyes. "I love you," he said softly, kissing the lips that Jim offered up to him. 

Jim slipped a hand behind Blair's head and fused their mouths together, thrusting his tongue into the hot cavern, moaning deep in his throat. Unable to stop himself, he thrust his hips up, making Blair pull away from his kiss and cry out. 

"Jim! God, Jim. I have to move... have to..." 

"Move, babe," Jim encouraged, rubbing his hands over Blair's chest, lightly caressing the nipples. Trailing his hands through the thick hair, his fingers found Blair's erection. He gazed intently into his lover's face while Blair's eyes closed and he raised himself slowly along Jim's cock before carefully lowering his body. His tongue between his teeth, he continued his gradual slide up and down Jim's erection. 

"Don't," Jim whispered. 

"What?" Blair asked, opening darkly passionate eye to meet his lover's. 

"Don't bite your tongue." 

Chuckling, Blair raised himself yet again before fully enveloping Jim's erection. "I won't. God, you feel so good!" 

"Feels wonderful from this end too, Chief." Jim experimentally pushed his hips just slightly while Blair was on a downward stroke, making Blair shout. 

"What? Did I hurt you?"

"Oh, my God! Do that again!" Blair shouted, trembling. "Oh, God! Jim!" 

"It's your prostate. Your special place. Where is it?" Jim was amazed that he could concentrate and actually feel the tiny nub when the head of his cock brushed against it. Blair shuddered each time Jim hit the spot until he was sweating rivulets down his face and chest. 

"Going to... Jim! Please!" 

Jim pushed up again and his fingers, which still stroked Blair's cock, wrapped firmly around the hard flesh. With a hand on Blair's hip to control his wild thrusting, his other hand worked his cock while he focused on Blair. With his senses, he timed his actions to maximize his lover's pleasure. He moved his hips at the exact moment when Blair's downward thrust hit his own prostate. The penis in Jim's hand swelled minutely before it pulsed out strings of hot, sticky semen onto his belly. 

"Come for me, Chief. God, yes!" Jim shouted, pushing up yet again and emptying his own balls into Blair's tight body. "Blair! Oh!" Jim cried, stroking Blair until he was soft. Then he pulled Blair against his chest and wrapped his arms around the trembling shoulders. 

"That was – mind blowing," Blair muttered against Jim's neck where he had buried his face. "I feel so yours. Thank you." 

Jim's fingers carded through the damp curls of his lover's head. "You are mine," he agreed. 

"Promise." Blair's face tightly pressed against Jim's skin. "Promise me!" 

"Shhhh," Jim said soothingly, petting the sweaty hair and a warm shoulder blade. "I'm here. I'm yours. You're mine. We belong together." Jim felt it. The bond grew, strong and secure. He shivered at the feeling, knowing it was real, very real. 

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry," Blair whispered with a shaky voice. "I'm sorry." 

"For what?" 

"For being so – emotional. It's stupid. It's not very manly." 

"Fuck manly. Cry if you want." 

Blair chuckled lightly. "I knew you'd understand." 

"Hey. I'm a little overwhelmed here also. This is all new to me, too." Jim shifted. "Straighten out your legs before they fall asleep." 

"I'll move."

"No," Jim said firmly, tightly holding Blair's shoulders. "Want to hold you." 

Jim felt Blair's lips turn up in a smile against the skin of his neck. He smiled in return, even though Blair couldn't see him. 

"Okay," Blair said, straightening out his bent legs and wiggling several times. "Comfy." He sighed and settled against Jim before he added, "We're in this together, then."

"Duh," Jim said. 

"Smartass," Blair answered. 

Jim laughed, hugging Blair tightly. "God, I love you. And I promise. I pledge myself to you." He pulled a blanket over their cooling bodies and securely tucked it around them. 

"Love you, Jim. Love you," Blair whispered before drifting off to sleep, still lying on his lover's chest.

\------------------------------------------

Jim groggily woke, feeling freezing cold and wet. His naked body wouldn't respond to his commands and when he tried to struggle, he was surprised that he could barely move. He groaned and forced his eyes to open. Something hit his eyeballs. Puzzled, he tried to understand – water – rain drops – his brain finally figured out. Rain drops? He flailed an arm. He felt something force it down onto his chest; he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, until he could finally see. A white face appeared in his line of sight. A growl came from the thin red lips before they parted, exposing the sharp white teeth that dripped venom. The black eyes that glared at him were evil and cold. Jim tried to scream, but when he opened his mouth, it was firmly clamped shut and held tightly closed. Something damp was pressed over his nose. When he breathed in, a horrid smell hit the back of his throat. He gagged, trying to push away the hands that forced the stench into his body. His weak struggles were ignored; the hands never moved. At the last moment, he tried to hold his breath. Finally, he had to breathe. The smell faded... In moments, there was no odor, no taste, then only darkness... 

Part Two

Sharp, stinging pain... With his face on fire, at first, Blair's eyes refused to open at his command. Another slap; another stab of pain, this time directly below his right eye. Blair yelped at the onslaught, his eyes finally opening in time to see a hand as it moved swiftly toward his face. He could see the lines on the palm just before it delivered yet another blow to his abused skin. Connecting with the tender skin of his lips, he screamed, tasting blood. 

"You stupid slut!" a voice shouted. Bracing himself for another slap, when it didn't materalize, Blair's gaze finally focused on his attacker. Carolyn Plummer stood over him, one leg on either side of his body, cradling one of her hands in the other. She glanced down and saw him looking up at her. Her face contorted with even more rage and she held out her reddened palm. "Ouch! Damn you anyway! This is all your fault!" Carolyn shouted, once again pulling her hurting hand close to her body. 

Blair took advantage of her momentary distraction with her own pain to assess his situation. A quick glance showed they were in Jim's kitchen. He was stretched, naked, on the floor with his hands tied behind his back. The weight of his own body on them was very uncomfortable, and he flexed his fingers. He surmised that in spite of the pressure, the knots weren't so tight that his circulation had, as yet, been cut off. Testing quickly, he discovered that his feet were tied also. He had no choice but to try and roll away while unbalancing his attacker. Maybe if he brought her to the floor with enough force, she would be momentarily stunned, and it would give him some time to think of a way to escape. He put his entire body behind his lurch, knocking into Carolyn's leg as she straddled him. The force of his motion unbalanced her, making her stumble and fall, with a grunt of surprise, onto his ankles. He yanked his legs toward his own body, freeing them, before he rolled several times toward the door. He knew that, tied as he was, his efforts were very likely futile, but the thought of being in her possession frightened him to the core. He was willing to risk anything to escape. When Carolyn tumbled away, Blair rolled. He managed to get a few feet before a hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked. He screamed again. 

"You stupid idiot! You are such a jerk!" Carolyn shouted, dragging him by his hair across the floor. When she finally released her painful grip, he lay, panting harshly. A sudden kick to his ribs had him crying out with pain. Another kick – and another scream. The assault paused, giving Blair a chance to try to catch his breath. Just when he thought that the attack was over, cruel hands dragged him up to his feet before shoving him backward, where he fell with a thump into a hard wooden chair. His hands were crushed under his own weight, and he cried out yet again at the pain. 

"Look at me!" Carolyn ordered. Before Blair could try to comply, another sharp slap was administered to his face. He felt the cut on his lip widen, and the blood ran freely from the opening. He moaned, unable to raise his head; unable to comply with her order even as he told himself defiantly that he refused to cooperate. Again, she screamed at him, her cruel fingers digging into his chin as she forced him to look into her face. With one hand clamped under his chin, her other swung again and again... Blair prayed for unconsciousness, but instead, he was finally granted a reprieve when the blows stopped...

Blair moaned and trembled. His face was a mask of pain. He could barely see from his swollen eyes and his mouth was full of blood. Leaning forward a few inches, he groaned before he found enough strength to spit out the blood. He sat very still, flexing his fingers and focusing his eyesight. With his vision compromised, he turned to his other senses. His ears picked up the sound of harsh breathing. He stiffened. Plummer must be still in the room. He braced for another assault, but again, nothing materialized. 

Blair used every ounce of strength he could muster to force his eyelids to open enough so that he could focus them and himself through the pain. He followed the rough breathing sounds until he saw Plummer as she lay in a lump at his feet. Blair tentatively shoved at her body with his bound feet, but she barely moaned at his touch. Puzzled, he looked into her slack face. He was confused for a moment and then surmised that the woman had sent herself into such a frenzy during the attack that she had caused herself to black out. Her hands, which Blair saw through a haze, lay splayed out against Jim's clean kitchen floor. In her fury, she had hurt herself severely. Nails looked to be ripped away, and blood flowed from the numerous splits on both hands. Blair was suddenly grateful that she had used only those hands as the instrument of her attack, or he would surely be dead by now. 

But before she regained consciousness, he had to escape. Blair looked around as much as he could while moving his head carefully. Each motion was painful; his entire body responded to the slightest movement with excruciating pain. Jim's kitchen... Jim! Blair sat up quickly, sending a stab of pain from his head to his toes. He shuddered, but forced himself to remain upright. Where was Jim? Oh, God... Blair listened intently, but he couldn't hear any other sounds from the rest of the house. He thought of calling out, but he realized that if Jim could hear him, he would have come to his rescue. A spike of fear stabbed at his heart. What had she done with his lover? Blair almost panicked. If Jim were dead by Carolyn's hand, this time... This time... He'd waited too long! This time... he would kill her. 

Blair twisted his hands in their bonds. He tested the strength of the knots, and when he felt some give, he wiggled them more. Twisting and pulling, his efforts were finally rewarded when he was able to yank one hand free, then the other. Carolyn moaned. He froze; his heart started pounding and bile rose in his throat. She grunted and rolled to her back, moaning again before he saw her rub at her head, smearing blood across her skin. Blair felt himself start to shake. He slowly leaned back, keeping his hands behind him, and dropped his head, feigning unconsciousness. He didn't move, not even when the length of rope that had been tied around his hands fell to the floor with a tiny sound that he prayed only he had heard. He held his breath, keeping his eyes closed, when he heard her struggle to her feet and walk around for a few moments. She was muttering incoherently, and her steps were unsteady. He heard the water running in the sink, and the sounds of splashing. Still, he never moved. With his feet still tied, she had the advantage. 

Carolyn's steps echoed in the quiet room. They came closer... "You're a fucking slut," she muttered. "He's mine! You stupid fucking slut! Just how many damned lifetimes does it take?" With her last words, Blair felt her breath against his skin. He braced himself. When her hand grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head backward, he made his move. 

His fist lashed out, connecting with her nose. A sickening crunch, and Carolyn was screaming. Blair lurched from the chair, grabbing a handful of the yellow slicker that she wore. Never hesitating, he smashed another fist into her face. She crumpled immediately. Blair released his hold, letting her unconscious body slither to the floor, his hand aching from the blows. 

He sood over the body, panting harshly for a long minute before he sat down on the floor and struggled with shaking fingers to untie the knots around his ankles. The ropes seemed to defy his efforts so he pushed himself to his feet and hopped over to the counter. With a kitchen knife, he slit the ropes. Ignoring Carolyn's unconscious body, he stumbled through the front parlor into the sitting room, searching for Jim. Calling out his lover's name, he frantically searched the first floor. He almost checked the upper floors and attic but he knew that Jim would never willingly go anywhere with the mad woman, and he didn't feel Carolyn, even in her deepest rage, was strong enough to carry Jim up the stairs without assistance. Since she had nobody to help her, he ran into the vestibule and stood mutely, turning in small circles while trying to figure out what she had done with Jim. 

Then it struck him. The cliff. Jim's ancestors. Their deaths. Suicide...

"Oh my God!" Blair screamed, and oblivious to his naked condition, raced out the front door and across the cold, wet grass to the edge of the cliff. He slipped to his backside near the edge and turned to his hands and knees. Crawling to peer over the edge, he lay down on his belly and frantically searched. The night was dark and stormy, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't see anything. Rising, he turned, intending to run back to the house for a flashlight. Just as he turned, something painfully slashed into his arm. He wiped the water from his eyes and in a flash of lightning, he saw Carolyn standing before him, arm aloft, a huge knife in her grasp. Taking a step back, he clamped a hand over the gushing wound while he kept his gaze focused on his attacker. She lurched forward and swung the knife downward. Too close to the edge, Blair couldn't retreat, so he lunged to the left, but still, Carolyn managed to connect with the top of his right shoulder. He let out a grunt of pain, but his gaze never left her face. Her eyes were wide and wild; she had the look of a mad woman. Her mouth moved constantly, but Blair heard no words. 

Blair saw her eyes flick over his shoulder toward the precipice behind him. She grinned evilly and now when she spoke, Blair heard every word. "You will die again, you stupid bastard. You will always die." Carolyn lunged forward. Blair watched the woman's eyes carefully, gauging, planning, testing... When she moved to her right, he followed, letting a look of panic cover his face... letting her have the advantage. Her mouth curved into a horrible smile; teeth flashing, she conveyed in a glance that she knew victory was hers. With an evil cackle, she again lunged forward, knife slicing toward his body. Instead of trying to avoid the knife, Blair quickly dropped to his knees and rolled to his right, her left. She couldn't stop her forward momentum and when she wildly swung her arm, the knife plunged into empty air. There was a high-pitched cry for a moment and from his place in the mud, Blair watched as she frantically twisted her body. Gravity sucked at her form. She plunged into empty air, falling over the cliff without a sound. 

\------------------------

Blair lay very still for a moment, allowing himself to try to catch his breath before he once again edged his way to the slippery brink, peering over. A flash of lightning illuminated the night. He saw the broken body of his nemesis smashed against the rocks below, the yellow slicker visible in the residual light. But something else caught his eye, a glint of white. Blair waited until the next lightning flash, his eyes drilled on the spot where he'd seen the glint. His patience was rewarded. Another lightning flash and he saw Jim, who lay still, stuck on a muddy ledge about twenty feet from the top of the cliff. 

"Jim!" Blair screamed against the sound of the surf and the thunder. "Jim! Jim!" His lover never moved. 

Rising, Blair ignored his bleeding shoulder and arm, and staggered back to the house, adrenalin lending speed to his unsteady feet. He trotted through the still-opened front door and into the kitchen, where he found Jim's cell phone on the counter. Hitting the call button, he heard a beep and received the message, "no service". Dropping the phone, he grabbed the flashlight and a coat from the door hook. Throwing on the coat, he pushed his feet into the shoes he had left beside the door earlier in the day and ran to the sitting room. He grabbed a blanket from the floor and considered his next move. A rope? But it would be of no use. There wasn't anything at the edge of the cliff to tie a rope onto so he could shimmy down. But how could he get to his lover? Barely a moment's hesitation, then he let out a shout of victory as he remembered Jim's SUV. 

Hurrying yet again back to the kitchen, he found the vehicle's keys in the basket near the door and careened outside. In the storage shed at the edge of the garden, he found a long length of rope. Starting the truck, he drove across the lawn, slipping and sliding on the muddy grass. Stopping about twenty feet from the edge, he left the headlights on and tied the rope to the bumper, wishing desperately that the vehicle had been equipped with a winch. Telling himself that he didn't have time to worry about what he didn't have, Blair tossed the rope over the side, wrapped the now-damp blanket around his neck, and started to carefully shimmy down the rope after wrapping it around his waist in a makeshift sliding knot. 

Blair stopped several times and used the flashlight to direct himself to where Jim lay. "He's not dead. He's not dead," Blair chanted repeatedly while the rain pounded his face and the rocks fell down on him from where the rope rubbed against the upper edge of the cliff. His feet slipped out from under him in the slick mud several times, but after what seemed to be a lifetime, Blair finally reached Jim. 

"Oh, God," Blair whispered, touching the cold flesh. He searched carefully until he found Jim's sluggish pulse. Knowing that hypothermia was going to kill Jim if he didn't do something quickly, he took a few moments to consider what to do next. Without many options, he decided that he'd wrap Jim's upper body, including his head, in the blanket, tie the rope under his arms, then secure his arms down so they couldn't catch on the rocks, and climb back up the rope where he'd back the truck up an inch at a time until he had Jim at the top. It wasn't a great idea. Jim would be dragged against the rocky ground on the way up, but it was better to be battered and alive than to die out here from exposure, or to fall from the narrow ledge onto the rocks below. 

The plan was made. Blair laid out the blanket on the mud and started to carefully move Jim's body when he heard something... The dull roar grew louder until the earth under and around Blair started to shake. The sound grew until it was so loud that Blair wanted to clamp his hands over his ears. He trembled violently when he realized that the very cliff on which he and Jim were trapped was pulling away from the earth to which it had been moored. The earth under his feet began to move downward... 

"Oh, God, no," Blair cried, knowing full well that the entire face of the cliff was sliding into the ocean, with the two of them along for the ride. Blair didn't bother screaming. He dropped on top of Jim, wrapped his arms around the still body and laced his fingers together. Seconds later, the mud began to move. Being carried along the surface much like a leaf on a running brook, all Blair could do was tightly hold onto his lover while knowing that this was the end and that they would die together, buried alive or smashed onto the rocks below. 

Blair held on, waiting for the inevitable, for the tons of rock and dirt to cover his body, for the suffocating mud to invade his eyes and ears and mouth, so when he was unceremoniously dumped into the cold Atlantic Ocean, he was stunned. His hands were in a death grip around Jim's heavy body and he struggled to stay float in the ten foot waves. Forcing his hands to release their grip only enough so that he could turn Jim's face upward, he wrapped one of his own arms around Jim's neck, holding Jim's face out of the water, Blair shivered violently, his teeth slamming against each other as he kicked valiantly toward where he hoped the shore was located. After a while and unsure he was making any progress at all, he stopped fighting the storm surge and let it carry them along, hoping it was to the beach. Floating on his back, Blair hung onto his lover. He refused to let go, even to save himself. Waves slammed into them, tossing them effortlessly. Still, Blair held on. Finally, after what seemed like hours, unable to see anything, tired, freezing cold and weakened from blood loss, Blair felt himself slip away...

Part Three

Jim woke to a large black face hovering over his. He blinked several times to clear his vision. "Who are you?" he blurted out. 

"So, you're finally awake," the black man said. "Good. I was getting worried there. I'm Sheriff Simon Banks. How do you feel?" Jim watched while the sheriff pressed the call button on the side of his bed. 

"I'm in a hospital?" Jim asked. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?" 

Rubbing his hand over his forehead, Jim thought for a moment before he said, "I was with my friend. We were sleeping in front of the fireplace. Then – nothing." Jim's forehead wrinkled. "No, that's not true. I remember being cold and wet. I saw – something staring down at me." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "It had big teeth and its mouth was red..." Realizing how silly he was sounding, he added, "I don't know. It's all confusing." 

"So you were what? Lying down? Walking? Where?" Banks continued. 

"On my back. Outside somewhere... It was raining and I was freezing. Then... Sorry. Nothing." 

"Relax," Sheriff Banks said, patting Jim's shoulder with a large hand. "You're fine. The doc will be in to give you the details." 

"Where's Blair? Is he okay?"

"Yes, he's okay. The doc sprung him yesterday afternoon. He kept hovering around your room and sneaking in every five minutes, so the staff tossed him out." 

"What? Why would they do that!" Jim said angrily. 

Banks held up his hands. "Hang on a sec. He needed to sleep. They suggested he go home and rest. He'd been awake for almost twenty-four hours and was looking pretty rough. They asked him to leave – for his own welfare. So he left, finally." 

"Where is he?"

"One of my men gave him a lift out to your place, so I guess he's still there." 

"So you saw him?"

Banks raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Saw him. Talked to him. Took his statement. Made sure he got a ride. Why?" he demanded. 

Jim nodded, a thousand questions flooding his brain. He had barely opened his mouth to ask the first one when the door swung open and an older woman in a white coat entered. 

"Mr. Ellison, awake I see. Good. Good," the woman said with a smile. "I'm Dr. Kaminski." She pulled her stethoscope from around her neck and clamped it in her ears. 

"Can I go home?" Jim immediately asked. 

"Let's see," Dr. Kaminski said, "you've been unconscious for almost two days." She moved her stethoscope around on Jim's chest. 

"Two days?" 

"Yes, sir. You were in a mudslide. You took a swim in forty degree water. You were drugged with..." 

"Drugged? Mudslide?" Jim echoed. 

"Mr. Ellison, I'm trying here," the doctor said with a touch of exasperation. "If you'd quit interrupting and give me a second, I could tell you." She tempered her words with a pat to Jim's shoulder. She glanced downed at Jim, and cocked a head toward the sheriff. "On second thought, I'll let Sheriff Banks give you the details while I look you over," Doctor Kaminski said with a smile. "You need to rest. Physically, you're doing well. No broken bones. A slight concussion. Banged up pretty good, but you're a lucky man." 

"I feel – okay." Turning to the sheriff, Jim nodded. 

Banks launched into his statement. "Your buddy says that you and he were – camping out on the floor in the sitting room to be near the fireplace since the power was out. Seems you both fell asleep and he says when he woke, he was tied up and that your neighbor, Carolyn Plummer, was beating the shit out of him."

"What? Is he okay? Damn it anyway, let me out of here!" Jim said loudly, struggling to rise. 

Dr. Kaminski stood and looked down at her patient, arms crossed. "If you don't calm down this second, you're staying for at least a week." 

Jim fell still at the thought. "Sorry," he muttered contritely. "Go ahead, Sheriff." 

Banks rolled his eyes, grinning. "Anyway, Sandburg said she slapped the crap out of him, screaming and cursing. He managed to get loose and he admits to smacking her in the face, knocking her out. Then he started looking for you. After he couldn't find you in the house, he thought about the cliff. I don't quite understand why he'd think you would be outside, but anyway, he says he was searching for you when Plummer attacked him again. This time with a knife. Sliced him up good on the arm and shoulder." 

Jim sat straight up. "You said he was okay!" 

"Mr. Ellison," Dr. Kaminski said, "your friend is okay. He needed ten stitches on his arm and seven on his shoulder. He has two black eyes, a split lip and a couple of loose teeth. And like you, he has enough bruises and contusions to cover ten men, but he's going to be fine. He needs what you need: rest and a healthy diet." 

Sighing with relief, Jim slowly nodded. "Okay. Thank you." Turning back to Banks, he asked, "Then what happened?" 

The sheriff said, "There was second tussle at the edge of the cliff. Plummer attacked Sandburg and she slipped, falling over the cliff. He said her body was on the rocks below, but the mudslide carried it out to sea." 

"Mudslide?" Jim echoed. "I'm still confused." 

"Excuse me," Dr. Kaminski said. "Mr. Ellison, you may leave if you promise me you'll behave yourself. The hypothermia was treated; your temperature is normal. You don't have any broken bones, just lots of bumps and bruises. I guarantee you that by tomorrow morning, you'll be stiff as a board. You may leave, if you swear to go straight home, eat a good dinner and climb into bed. I'll prescribe a mild anti-inflammatory and a pain killer."

"I promise, Doctor." Jim flashed her a warm smile, giving her his most innocent look. 

The doctor laughed. "Get dressed, and I'll have the paperwork at the duty station in half an hour. Take care of yourself, Mr. Ellison. And tell Mr. Sandburg to do so, as well." 

"Thank you. I will." 

"Sheriff, good seeing you," the doctor said before leaving the room. 

Jim gingerly rose from the bed and stretched his already-stiffening body. "I feel like I was battered to within an inch of my life," he groused, opening the small closet and finding clean clothes. He removed the hospital gown and began dressing, first pulling on the t-shirt, he added, "Go ahead, Sheriff. I'm listening." 

Banks found a seat and crossed his legs, stretching out. "Where was I?"

"The mudslide." 

"Oh, okay. So anyway, Sandburg said he was looking over the cliff at Plummer's body when the lightning flashed and he saw you lying on a narrow ledge about twenty feet down."

Jim pulled on clean undershorts and jeans. "Really? I don't remember a thing." 

"The doc said you were heavily sedated, which is why you were unconscious so long. It probably saved your life also when you were dumped in the ocean." 

"Ocean? Good God, what else could have possibly happened?"

Simon held up a hand, rolling his eyes. "Just wait. I'm getting there. Sandburg figured out he'd move your truck to the edge of the cliff. Tie a rope on the bumper, climb down, and pull you back up before you tumbled into the ocean. The plan worked to an extent. He managed to move the vehicle, tie the rope and get to you, but then Mother Nature had other plans. A huge section of the cliff broke away and slid into the ocean. It took you and Sandburg, as well as Plummer's body." 

Jim stood very still, his eyes focused on Banks' face. "And after all of that, he's okay? How in the hell did he manage that?"

Banks shrugged. "He says he held onto you and when you both hit the water, he swam until he couldn't swim any more. Then he floated as long as he could, holding you up until he finally passed out from the cold, not to mention the blood loss from the knife wounds." 

"Fuck," Jim said softly, grabbing his jacket. "Where did the clothes come from?"

"When I sent Sandburg home, he gave a change of clothes to my deputy. He couldn't make it back into town because he doesn't have a car out there, and it's too far for him to hike back here in his condition."

"Yeah, good thinking. Thanks for taking care of him." Jim pulled the door open and walked toward the duty station. After a few steps, he stopped and glared at Banks. "Wait just a second... I know Blair doesn't have a car, but what about my Expedition? He knows he could use that if he needed to." Jim again walked toward the desk, where he smiled at the duty nurse, signed where indicated, and after receiving a copy of his care instructions, he followed Simon to the elevator. 

"Ellison, I don't know how to tell you this, but Plummer wasn't the only fatality. Your truck bought the farm." 

"It did?"

"Yup. Went over the edge in the mudslide. Right into the ocean." 

"My insurance agent is going to kill me," Jim complained. "That's the third new vehicle in three years I've totaled." 

Banks chuckled and led Jim across the parking lot to his cruiser. "Hop in and I'll tell you the rest." 

Jim nodded, climbing into the passenger side. Simon waited until he had fastened his seat belt before he started the engine and told the rest of the story while he drove. 

"Two fishermen found you both on the beach early Friday morning. You were both suffering from hypothermia. It's a miracle you were both even alive. Luckily, one of the guys had a cell and the phones were working again. We dragged your sorry asses off the beach and hightailed it to the hospital. You can thank the ER doctors for saving you." 

"Thanks, Sheriff. I'll send over a half-dozen pizzas in the next few days for the staff."

"Good idea. They'd appreciate any recognition. They don't get enough thanks for their hard work." 

"I won't forget this. Thank you, also." Jim stared out the side window. "I just hope Blair's – okay." Jim sighed; he'd almost said "at home" Was he? Was he truly "home"? "So you talked to Blair?"

"Why do you keep asking me if I talked to Sandburg?" Banks said with irritation. "I already told you that I had." 

"His story checked out? You're not charging him with anything?" 

"I saw Sandburg's condition, and yours, too. I also checked out the house while he was in the hospital. The mess in the kitchen verified his story. I'm not planning on filing charges and I don't think the county attorney is either." 

"Blair wouldn't lie." 

Banks smiled. "I ran a check on you, too. You're a cop. Besides being professional courtesy, I don't believe he would lie either." 

"Did you know Sandburg before this happened?"

"Nope, never met the guy before." 

"What about the Ellison place? He wasn't the caretaker?"

Banks turned left and started out on River Road. "I've been sheriff for twelve years and I know most folks in the county. I've never met the kid before this week." 

"What about the caretaker at the Ellison place?"

Simon shrugged. "I've never seen anybody out there. I usually made it a point to cruise by once a month to check for vandals and such, but nobody's ever bothered the place. Not even a broken window or graffiti on the porch. The local kids won't even park out there. They say it's haunted." Simon turned down Jim's road. "Funny, it always looks neatly kept from the outside, but to tell you the truth, the place gives me the creeps. Maybe somebody comes over from Whitehall," he offered. 

"Have you been inside?"

"Nope." 

"It's been vacant for a long while?"

"As long as I can remember, and I'm forty-four years old. Been in these parts all my life, except for a few years when I was in the military." Banks pulled up in front of the house. "Here you are. Home sweet home." 

"Thanks," Jim said thoughtfully, chewing his lower lip before he raised his head. "Oh, right. Thanks."

Banks chuckled. "You okay? That knocking around make you kind of spacey?" 

Jim opened the door and said, "I'm good. Thanks..." His head turned and his nose picked up the welcomed scent of apples and balsam. 

"Jim!" Blair opened the front door and carefully negotiated the steps, a huge smile on his face. "I'm so happy to see you!" 

Jim grinned, happy for a brief moment to see Blair before he took a good look and saw the battered face and the arm in a sling. "Chief?" Jim said softly, walking toward his lover. When he saw Blair nervously glance over at Simon and saw his smile fade, Jim said, "It's okay, Blair." He knew exactly what Blair was thinking; that he shouldn't be demonstrative toward Jim in public, but Jim had other ideas. He held out his arms in invitation. When Blair's face lit up, Jim knew he had done the right thing. Blair moved into Jim's embrace, latching his good arm around Jim's waist. 

"They made me leave," Blair said huskily. "I wanted to stay with you." 

"Hey, you needed to rest. You look a little rough around the edges." Jim leaned back to look into Blair's face, where his fingers lightly cupped his chin and he carefully examined the bruises. "I'm so sorry," he whispered before tenderly kissing his lover's mouth. "Thank you for saving my life." 

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Blair said, his eyes watering just a bit. Turning his gaze to the sheriff, he added, "Thanks for bringing him home." 

"Sure, Sandburg. Any time." 

"Come in for coffee?" Blair asked. "I have a fresh pot on."

Simon suspiciously looked at the old house. "I don't know..." 

"It won't bite, Sheriff. I promise," Blair said with a smile. 

Banks smiled in return and with an apologetic shrug, said, "Okay, sure. Thanks. If it's okay with Jim, I'd love a quick cup." 

At Jim's encouraging nod, Blair grinned. "Cool," he said to Simon before meeting Jim's gaze. "Come on, you need to rest. And I'll bet you're hungry."

"I'm starving, but I'll fix us something. You're down to one hand there, Chief." Jim smiled at Blair, impulsively placing a soft kiss on his temple. 

The three men went into the vestibule. Simon closed the front door and followed his new friends, who walked arm in arm through the house and into the kitchen. Jim reluctantly released his lover, sinking into the nearest chair with a sigh. 

"I didn't realize how tired I was," Jim said with a groan. "And sore." 

Blair nodded. "I sympathize totally." Putting out cups, he brought the pot to the table, and made two trips for cream and sugar. 

"What smells so good, Chief?" Jim asked, sipping the fresh brew. 

"I put a casserole in the oven." 

"How did you know I was...?" Jim held up a hand. "Never mind." 

Simon eyed the two men before returning to his cup, looking like he had plenty of questions to ask. Jim almost chuckled aloud when he saw the sheriff tamp down his curiosity. He liked the man, and he had a feeling that they were going to be good friends, so he caught Simon's gaze and said firmly, "The answer is yes."

"What?" Simon asked, looking baffled. 

"Blair and I. We're a couple." 

"Oh... Well, okay." Simon sipped his coffee, smacking his lips in appreciation. "Good coffee. I love a great cup of java." 

Blair sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. "That's it? All you have to say is okay?"

Simon shrugged. "Yeah. Besides saying this is damned good coffee." Jim and Blair laughed, and Simon joined in before he glanced around. After a few moments, he said in a surprised voice, "You know, this is a nice place. It feels – okay being here. It doesn't feel haunted at all." The room was silent before Simon's eyes widened. "Oh! Sorry!" he said hastily. "Really... That was damned rude of me." 

Blair and Jim exchanged looks before they both laughed. Blair said reassuringly, "Hey, man. It's okay. We're glad you like it. Speaking of food, you guys want some macaroni and cheese? It's not fancy but it's homemade. And it should be done right about now."

"Yes," Jim and Simon answered simultaneously. 

Blair laughed and started to rise but Simon said, "Stay put, Sandburg. You need to stay off your feet for a while. I'll get the food. You direct me." 

With a nod and a word of thanks, Blair instructed Simon on where to find plates, silverware and potholders. The food was shared by the newly formed group of friends, and when Simon finally pushed himself back from the table, he patted his full stomach. 

"Great meal, Sandburg. Thank you." Rising, he cleared the table and stowed the leftovers while the injured men relaxed. Finished with his chores, he said gruffly, "You two look like hell. Go to bed." 

Blair nodded and carefully rose. "I am tired. I'm sure Jim is too." 

Jim slowly got to his feet. "I feel like shit, but my stomach is happy." The men laughed for a moment before Jim slipped an arm around Blair's shoulders and said, "Let's see Simon out, lock up and hit the sack. I'm beat." 

Blair smiled. "Good idea, Jim. I'd never have thought of that." 

"You are such a smartmouth, Chief," Jim affectionately growled at his partner. 

They walked their guest to the door and amid their calls of thanks, Simon waved and drove away. 

Jim immediately turned to his lover. "Let me see," he demanded, pushing aside the collar of Blair's t-shirt to look at his injuries. On his shoulder, the white bandage covered the fresh stitches, but when Jim lightly ran a fingertip on the bandage, he could almost feel each knot. Another examination showed the bandage on his upper arm. "Damn it to hell, Blair," he whispered huskily. "I almost lost you." 

Blair nodded, moving closer to his lover. "I know. I almost lost you, too."

Jim gave Blair a loving smile before he gently guided him up the stairs and to their bedroom. He carefully undressed his exhausted lover before he removed his own clothing. Together, they snuggled into the soft down mattress with Blair's back against Jim's chest. Making sure that Blair's injured arm was comfortably situated, Jim wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed the back of the curly head. 

After a few moments, Jim said softly, "The sheriff could see you." 

"I'd think so, Jim. After all, he ate dinner with us." 

"But I thought... You're not... Are you?"

"I'm not what? Not real?" Blair sighed softly. "Do I feel real to you, Jim?"

"God, yes." 

"Do I taste real to you?"

"Uh-hmmm," Jim murmured licking Blair's ear, making him giggle. 

"Stop that. This is serious. I'm here, I'm yours. I'm never leaving." 

"Promise?"

"Yes. I promise." 

"Will you help me run the house?"

"Of course. Don't I already?"

"Yes, but how about as a bed and breakfast maybe?"

"Sure. Be happy to. I can cook, you know."

"Yes, I know." 

"Jim, I'm real." 

Jim smiled against the back of Blair's head where the hairs tickled his face. "Yeah, I know. Blair?"

"Hmm?"

"Why now? Why this life and not the others?"

"This time, I think we got it right." 

"Oh. Finally. So what about the – suicides." 

"Jim, there were no suicides."

"No?"

"They were all murders made to look like suicides."

"She did it, didn't she?"

"Yes." 

"And this is the first time that one of us – broke the cycle?"

"I think so... Yes. The cycle was broken when she died by my hand, I think, instead of one of us dying by hers." Blair shivered in Jim's arms before he added, "Or both of – us. This time, we survived. And this is going to sound cold, but I'm not sorry she's gone. She felt – evil. And now, we're together. I'm real. You're real. We get each other as a – prize." 

Knowing Blair's sensitive nature, Jim comfortingly rubbed the warm belly under his palm. "It's okay. You did what you had to do. You saved my life, and your own. We must have – rectified the mistakes of our past lives." 

Jim could hear the smile in Blair's voice when he said, "Yes, we did." He was silent for a moment before he offered, "Sorry about your SUV."

"No big deal. It's insured, although I'll probably have to mortgage this place to get another insurance policy. My record's not too good." 

"Hey, I have an idea!" 

"What's that?"

"There's a little place in town that sells vintage vehicles. I saw a really cool '69 blue and white Ford truck there the other day. You'd really like it. It's strong and sturdy, and the color matches your eyes. There's also a car there that I thought might work for me. A 1967 Volvo, a true classic." 

Jim chuckled. "Tomorrow we'll go and look." Shifting in the bed, he groaned a bit at the stiff muscles. "Make that day after tomorrow." Lacing their fingers together, Jim grinned when Blair brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed Jim's knuckles. 

"Love you," Blair said drowsily. 

"Me, too. Chief. I love you." Jim closed his eyes. "And you're real," he added 

In a few minutes, cocooned closely together, they both drifted off to sleep, content, safe and very, very real. 

The End


End file.
